Hide No Longer
by Orli's EEPs Chica
Summary: COMPLETED Feb 12! Picks after the ALW musicalmovie... The Opera Populaire returns, and Erik finds himself falling for one of the newest singers, who has to face her own demons. ErikOC... R&R people!
1. Learn To Be Lonely

A/N: Hey everyone- this is my first phanfic!!!

I have seen the movie (with Gerry Butler.... -swoony sigh- he is THE phantom!!) and read the book by Gaston Leroux which also ROCKS!! Still trying to see the actual show.... its up there on my list of things to do...

But anyway... this story starts two years after the end of the movie- and Erik is still alive, of course!!

And- oh, here's the disclaimer before I forget and someone sues me...

Disclaimer: Sadly, I did not write Phantom of the Opera. Nor did I write the hugely successful musical based on the book. Nor -sob- did I make the movie, featuring Gerry Butler....... Nope... all I own are my OCs (those are the ones you don't recognize). This is the part where I fall on my knees and beg you to do three things: 1)Read 2)Review and 3)Don't sue me!!!!!!

One more note: This is an ErikOC story.... with your standard C-R pairing. I know that these OC stories are not a favorite of everyone, and know that I am all for an ErikChristine pairing. But this story was on my mind.... had to write it.

Please don't flame me, and if you must tell me how bad it is, just be nice about it.

Chapter 1- Learn to Be Lonely

(A Cathedral in Paris)

It was a sunny September morning in Paris, the sun shining down on the cathedral in the middle of the city.

Standing near the entrance to the church was a beautiful young woman in a white wedding gown with a long train, carrying an enormous bouquet of white lilies.

"Are you ready, Christine?" another girl, dressed in a bridesmaid's gown of midnight blue satin asked. The girl's auburn hair was swept up into a fashionable bun.

Christine Daae smiled. "Yes," she said nervously.

The girl in blue gave a small smile, before her escort took her arm gently and lead her down the aisle. Christine smiled after her maid of honor, and moved closer to the door. At the front of the church, she could see Raoul- her love- waiting at the altar for her. It was the day they had dreamt about for many months, the day when they would at last be man and wife.

As the cathedral's organ struck up the wedding march, Christine hesitated for a brief second, as thoughts of the Angel suddenly flooded through her mind, with the force of a raging river, racing toward a waterfall.

Her Angel of Music.

Where was he now, she wondered? Did he still think of her, like she did of him, even though it had been nearly two years since they had parted, on that fateful night in the opera house dungeons? She remembered his voice, the sad, lonely voice that had spoken her name so tenderly and sang to her with such passion. She remembered the way her heart had broken for him when she had left with Raoul in the small boat, vowing to forget him and never return.

She hadn't forgotten.

Not a day had gone by that she hadn't thought of Erik, her angel, the phantom of the Opera.

_Think of me_

_Think of me fondly_

_When we've said goodbye....._

She took her first steps down the aisle.

She did think of him. She would always think of him.

But he wasn't her Angel any longer.

In the abandoned choir loft, a figure in a dark cloak watched over the wedding ceremony. The figure was a man- tall and well built, in his early thirties or so. The only thing that made him look out of place was the white porcelain mask that covered the right half of his face, from his forehead to his chin, curving slightly so that his lips were still exposed. The left side of the face could be considered handsome; the deep brown eyes that were constantly moving, seeing everything that was transpiring below. They watched everything with a look of sadness. The eyes were framed by dark brown hair that could almost be taken for black. His features were sharp and defined, but still masculine. He listened as the couple on the altar exchanged their vows.

They exchanged rings, smiling happily at the new union, and the bishop celebrating the mass said, "I now pronounce you man and wife."

The young Vicomte leaned his head down and kissed his bride tenderly.

In the loft, the 'angel's' eyes filled with tears. Quietly, so that no one could hear him, he sang softly, _"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime.... say the word and I will follow you......."_ His shoulders shook suddenly as he held in emotion. _"Love me, that's all I asked of you..." _

With a heavy heart, he took something out of his cloak.

A single red rose, tied with a black silk ribbon. He looked at it, memories of Christine in his mind, along with thoughts of what might have been if he wasn't such a monster. Then, he dropped the rose from the balcony.

It landed silently by the doors of the church.

No one in the congregation noticed- they were too busy watching the happy couple.

With one last look at his one love, the Angel left the choir loft with a sweep of his black cloak.

As Christine and Raoul made their way down the aisle as the Count and Countess de Chagny, something caught Christine's eye.

A solitary rose, tied with a black ribbon, lying in the doorway.

Her heart fluttered in her chest, and she looked around, wishing she could see her angel one last time. But she saw only smiling faces of well-wishers and family.

Her angel had left her, once and for all.

The wedding celebration took place at a hotel, a block away from the Paris Opera House. The guests lined the street as the carriage carrying the newly weds came clomping down the street. Christine and Raoul stepped out, hand in hand, and walked into the hotel, looking blissfully happy.

"Christine!" she heard someone call her.

Her maid of honor came over to her, escorted by a tall man- a cousin of Raoul's- in a black suit.

"Congratulations, Christine!" said the girl.

"Thank you, Clare. This whole day has been... wonderful... But I feel like I'm walking around in a dream."

"But a good dream, no?" said Clare.

"Yes- the best dream of my life," she said.

Clare smiled at her friend's happiness. She had known Christine since they had been children. If it hadn't been for Christine's father, Clare knew that she would probably still be living in her father's house. She shuddered at the prospect. Her father was... not the nicest of men. He was prone to abusive behavior, and as a child, Clare had been a victim of his temper, until she met Christine and her father. Clare's mother had died while giving birth to her, which had made her the object of her father's hate. He demanded that she stay home all day, working long hours doing anything her father could think of. Clare had grown up uneducated and miserable- hating herself until chance came, and she ran into Christine Daae one day at the market place. The two had become fast friends, and Christine had told her father of Clare's condition. Monsieur Daae had seen to it that Clare be removed from her father's care, and though it was difficult for him, helped to send her to a school in Paris.

But aside from that generosity, Daae had also given Clare a gift which she valued above all else- the gift of music. Like his own daughter, Daae had taught Clare how to sing. The young girl- though her voice was not as good as Christine's- had a beautiful voice, and had strengthened it with lessons from Christine's father.

After his death, Christine and Clare had kept up correspondence with each other- each thinking of the other as a sister.

Christine knew that while Clare always looked happy on the outside, she was still lonely, having no one like Raoul to take care of her.

Christine thought of this as she danced with her new husband, as she watched Clare, sitting in her chair peacefully, but with a sad, faraway look. She knew Clare wanted someone to care for her.... and that's when her idea took wing. For there was someone else whom she knew that wanted someone to be there, wanted a friend in life.

And that someone lived in the depths of the Paris Opera House.

Later that evening, Christine took Clare aside before leaving for her honeymoon.

"What is it, Christine?" Clare asked.

"I spoke with Madame Giry today," Christine began.

"The woman who works at the Opera House?"

Christine nodded. "Yes. She has offered to let you stay there, now that I'll no longer be living in the flat."

After the opera house had been closed for renovations following the disaster, Christine and Clare had shared a small flat in the city. Now though, Christine would be living with Raoul, and didn't want Clare to be alone in that part of Paris.

"At the opera house?" Clare asked, sounding excited.

"Yes," Christine responded; Clare could hear the happiness in her voice, along with some other emotion that Clare wasn't sure of. "If you'd like to."

"I would love to," Clare said. "When-?"

"Madame Giry can take you there tonight, to save you the trip to the flat. You can collect your things tomorrow, when it's light."

"Thank you, Christine."

Christine hugged her. "Its the least I can do," she said. For both of you, she thought silently. She hoped that somehow, they might meet.

"Christine!" called Raoul. "Our carriage awaits, milady," he said romantically.

Christine motioned that she'd be a moment, then turned back to Clare. "I'll miss you, Clare. Take care of yourself." And take care of my angel of music.

"I will. Have fun, Christine."

"I will." The two young women embraced, then Christine went to join Raoul as the guests followed them out to where their carriage awaited to take them away on their honeymoon to the Mediterranean.

Soon after Christine had left, Clare felt another presence appear at her side.

"Clare?" came the sound of an older woman's voice. "I am Madame Giry. We've met before..."

"Yes, Madame, I remember," said Clare. "And I thank you for allowing me to live at the Opera House."

Madame Giry smiled, though she knew the child could not see.

The two of them, along with Meg, Madame Giry's daughter, left the party soon after, heading toward the Opera house down the street. Meg chatted the whole time about all the fun they would have at the house- all the rooms to explore and things to do now that the building was restored.

"And there's always the phantom," Meg said excitedly.

"Meg," said her mother sternly. "You should not speak so."

"But it's true, Mother. Isn't it? You've said so yourself. The phantom gives you his letters, doesn't he?"

"I have been back there for nearly a month, Meg, and have yet to see anything that would lead me to believe that the phantom is there."

"But that doesn't mean he doesn't exist!"

Mme. Giry turned to Claire. "Ignore my daughter. Do not let her stories.... frighten you. I have always said, there is no reason for the phantom to harm you, unless you do something to offend him in some way. He is better off left alone, if he is still there. Now," she said, as they reached the opera house steps, "Meg- I want you to make sure that a room is ready for Clare. I need to show her how to get up to the dormitories."

"Yes Mother," said Meg, and Clare heard the clicking of her heels as she hurried up the stone stairs.

Clare followed Madame Giry up after Meg, toward the dormitories. When they reached the room that had been prepared for Clare, Meg gave her one of her nightgowns to borrow, and showed her where everything was in the room. It was a small room, but comfortable. When Meg had gone, Clare changed into the nightgown and crawled into the bed.

She was asleep in moments.

Down below the opera house though, the 'angel of music' was still awake, finding sleep impossible after the events of the day.

It was done, he thought. Christine could never be his now, no matter how much he wished it to be true. Usually, he was at peace in his solitude, but tonight, he was frustrated. He picked up a piece of stone that had probably fallen from the ancient ceiling and hurled it as hard as he could at the stone cave-like walls, where it shattered. He put a hand over the masked side of his face, sinking slowly to his knees.

It wasn't fair.

None of it was fair.

He looked at his miserable existence, the space that he called home. The broken mirrors, the glass scattered across the floor, the dismal, cold walls that imprisoned him. And then there was his organ and his music. But his songs had been meaningless and cold since that night. He still composed, but his heart wasn't there in his songs as it had once been.

He stood up again, and walked to the boat.

He would find no rest tonight, so he set about to wander the opera house. Through his secret tunnels and passages he went, until he came to The Room. The room where he had first called Christine to him, the mirror that she had seen him first appear to her. He opened the mirror and looked around. The room had clearly not been touched since that night- there was a fine coating of dust over the furniture. The room seemed alive with memory and song...

_Flattering child you shall know me_

_See why in shadow I hide..._

"'_Look at your face in the mirror_

_I am there inside'"_ Erik sang softly. He looked at his own face in the mirror, cursing the mask silently.

Then, unable to bear any more of the memories, he swept back into his secret passage.


	2. The Voice of an Angel

A/N: just a note: i don't own any of the songs in this story... R&R!!!!

Chapter 2- The Voice of an Angel

The first few weeks flew by with unnatural speed as Clare began to learn her way around the opera house. She rarely went through the halls alone, though, as one wrong turn would send her into an impossible labyrinth of passageways that she would be too frightened to navigate alone. There was one room, though, that she found to be comforting, and that was the small chapel, near the dormitories. As far as she knew, no one else visited it, because it was always cold and deserted. She went there every day and would sit in silence, thinking about everything and nothing at the same time, all the while unaware that she was being watched. For behind the small altar was the phantom's secret hiding place, where he had spoken and comforted Christine a few years before. He had discovered her there a few days after she had come to the theater. At first he thought she was Christine, but then realized that it was his mind, playing tricks on him. He had never seen the girl before, but she looked as young and innocent as Christine had been. There was always a faraway look in her eyes; they never seemed to rest on anything, just stared blankly ahead. From his distance, he watched her quiet beauty- the way the light shining from the stained glass windows would catch the colors of her hair. But she never stayed long in the room, usually interrupted by the blonde dancer- Meg. Just like Christine, Erik thought sadly. After Clare would leave, the phantom would depart also, back down into the dungeons of darkness and the world he knew.

Soon after she moved to the house, a letter came in the mail for Clare, from Christine- still abroad in Italy or Greece. She went up to the chapel to read it...

_Dearest Clare,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Raoul and I are in south Italy at the moment. The land here is so beautiful, I'll tell you everything when I return. In the meantime, how do you like the opera house? I hope to be back in time to see the first performance, time willing. _

_But I must ask you- have you found the Angel of Music yet? Remember, the one father used to talk about when we were children? That's all I shall say, but keep your ears open- he's there, and when you need him, call to him. He will hear you_.

_Much love,_

_Christine_

Christine's words confused Clare.

The Angel of Music?

She remembered Monsieur Daae's stories- he had told them to her when she was younger, but unlike Christine, she never believed that the Angel of Music existed. And yet, Christine wrote of him as though he did. And Christine wouldn't lie to her, she knew.

When you need him, call to him.

What did that mean? Clare folded up the note, wondering.

_'I am your angel of music...'_

Clare jumped. Had she imagined it or had someone just said....?

"Clare?"

Meg's voice.

Clare breathed. There was no one there- just Meg. She must have imagined it.

"What is it, Meg?"

"Come, we're starting rehearsals if you want to listen," Meg said. "I wish you could perform with us."

"So do I, Meg. But you mother promised that I could audition for your next production."

"Come, though. I want your professional opinion on our singing."

Clare laughed lightly. "Lead the way, Mademoiselle Giry," she said importantly. The two girls scurried off to the stage.

From where he hid, Erik silently wished Clare could have stayed. He enjoyed the peaceful silence. But then he too whisked off, heading in the direction of the theatre.

Clare stood in the wings, listening as the opera was performed on stage. The chorus sounded slightly weak, and the leads were anything but brilliant.

High above her, on the catwalks, Erik thought so too. Christine was ten time better that the girl on stage- Marguerite Demonet. He moved closer to the stage, and accidentally knocked over an empty bucket.

Clare heard the sound, and looked around madly. She swore for a moment that she had seen a black-cloaked man on the catwalks above her. Erik, realizing that she had heard him, retreated to the shadows, heart pounding, praying she hadn't seen him, When she did nothing, he let out a breath, then silently left.

The rehearsals ended a few hours later.

Clare stood with the girls from the chorus line as they changed out of their costumes. All of them were jittery about the opening night, the following week.

"Do you think we're ready?" little Juliet asked. She was the youngest one in the company- it would be her first show.

"Of course," said Michelle.

"If the phantom doesn't interfere," said Meg playfully.

"Meg Giry- don't speak of such things," a girl named Michelle scolded, casting a glance at Juliet, who looked fearful.

"What do you think, Clare?" Meg asked.

Clare shrugged. "I'm not even sure if such a phantom exists. You will all do fine, I am sure of it."

"Or suffer the phantom's wrath!" Meg laughed.

Erik was alone again, in his dungeons, thinking.

The opera company was back, and it would all begin again. All the madness, all the intrusion on his solitude. He would have to start playing the feared 'Opera Ghost' again, before the myth died out.

But when he thought of it, he didn't want it anymore.

He didn't want any of it.

His heart- his lonely, solitary heart was weary from living his empty life.

How many more years would he have to go on like this, he wondered, alone and hungry for acceptance. How long would he go on, playing a monster?

No more, he thought. The time had come at last.

He grabbed short, thin object from beside the organ, and set off, through his secret passages until he came to the chapel.

He cursed whatever god there was in the heavens- if there even was one.

_Here I am- your angel from Hell_, he thought scornfully. _Well send me to Hell, then_. From inside his cloak, he drew out a short dagger.

Time to end it all.

He held the point to his heart. Would his body ever be found, he thought. Or would the corpse remain until he disintegrated into bones and dust?

He heard footsteps coming closer, and a moment later, he saw Clare appear. He drew in a sharp breath. He didn't want to do this with her standing right there. What if she heard him scream?

She held a piece of paper in her hand. Her eyes still harbored their normal faraway look as her head turned. She knelt down in front of the altar, and Erik had the feeling she would be there for awhile.

Well, he had been waiting thirty years for death to come.

He didn't want to wait any longer.

He closed his eyes, and was about to end his life when he heard a voice- a light, clear, strong voice, singing.

"_Christine once spoke of an angel_

_Now how I wish he'd appear_

_But now I can dream that he's listening_

I can dream he's here..."

Erik's hand froze. This girl knew Christine?

This girl knew him?

She was singing about the 'Angel of Music', was she not?

"_Angel of music,_

_guide and guardian_

_grant to me your glory_

_Angel of music _

_hide no longer_

_Secret and strange angel."_

It was the voice of an angel, he thought. It was so pure, untainted and innocent. Erik involuntarily lowered the dagger.

This wasn't happening again. How could it- was it all a sheer coincidence?

So this new girl wanted to know him.

Did she believe him to be some fairy tale character? A handsome, shadowy figure, hiding in the darkness?

Whatever thoughts she harbored in her mind, he knew that they were wrong- distorted.

She wanted a hero- not a monster.

No, he thought. Christine must have told this girl... Clare.... but she had sworn.

_...Swear to me never to tell_

_The secret you know of the angel in Hell....._

She had promised him- and for this very reason! Erik leaned his head back against the cold stone wall, and the dagger fell out of his hand with a deft clanging noise. Clare's head snapped up.

"Who's there?" she asked fearfully, but also excited. Was the angel of music really there? Was it actually possible that Christine had been right?

"Are you the Angel of Music?" Clare asked.

No answer, but Erik's heartbeat had sped up in his chest. Should he say anything? No. He didn't want to bring something like this on himself again.

Clare continued, not sure how foolish she sounded. "Someone told me that... if I needed you... to call to you."

When there was no response, she shook her head. "I must be crazy," Erik heard her mumble. "There's no angel."

She got up to leave.

"_Angel,"_ came a whispered voice from somewhere in the room.

Clare froze.

From his hiding place, Erik cursed himself silently. He had been so anxious to make her stay, his voice had acted on its own. Now, there was no going back.

"I'm here," he said softly, in his normal silky voice.

"I don't believe it," she said. "Christine was right."

His throat tightened. "You know of Christine?"

"Yes. She is my best friend."

"She told you of me?"

"Yes- but she did not tell me much. Only that you were here. Are you really an angel?" Clare asked.

Erik hesitated. "No," he said.

"Then what are you?" Clare asked cautiously. She looked wary of him now.

_A twisted, gruesome monster_, he thought grimly, but said only, "You will see in time."

"How do I know if you are good or evil?"

"You must trust me."

Clare let out a deep breath. "Very well. I must go now," she said, and turned on heel and left the room.

When she was gone, Erik squeezed his eyes shut, thinking about what he had just done.

And about what he had just not done.

He picked up the dagger from the ground and looked at it hatefully. What would have happened if she had not come into the room at that moment, in search of her angel? If he had not heard her voice, he would be dead now.

The voice of another angel had saved him.


	3. Opening Night

Chapter 3- Opening Night

On the day of the first performance, a note was found, sitting on the stage.

_Monsieur,_

_I congratulate you on your new ownership of the Opera House. Since we will no doubt be working very closely, I feel that it is necessary and proper that I introduce myself. I am the ghost of this Opera house, and as such, I implore you to respect my solitude, as well as a few tangible wishes. _

_Firstly, I must ask you not to rent out Box Five for ANY reason whatsoever. It is to be left empty, and attended to by Madame Giry ONLY. _

_Secondly, I expect my monthly salary of twenty thousand francs to be paid to me, care of Madame Giry, a good woman whom I trust, and, if you value peaceful operation of this establishment, you will continue to employ her. _

_Lastly, may I affirm that if my demands are met, you and your company will have nothing to fear, and we will coexist harmoniously. If you choose, however, not to heed my words, or give me any reason to doubt your methods of management, I warn you to beware the consequences._

_Your humble servant,_

_The Opera Ghost_

Monsieur Pierre Longere, new manager of the Opera House, was perplexed by this note. When it was brought to him, he nearly had a heart attack at the prospect of a ghost in his theater. It took a large brandy, and Madame Giry's assurance that he had nothing to fear to keep him from canceling the show and running for it.

As it grew closer to the time of the performance, Clare and Meg were speaking backstage, as Meg laced up her ballet shoes.

"Meg- something strange happened to me last night."

"Mmmmm," said Meg, half-listening, now preoccupied with arranging her hair.

"I heard... a voice in the chapel."

"Not again..." Meg mumbled.

"Pardon?"

"You and Christine both. Hearing voices. Christine heard the Angel of Music. I never believed her. Of course, after she heard him, she would disappear and strange things started happening to her."

"Strange things?"  
Meg shrugged. "She acted strange. All dark, and mysterious. And the phantom started insisting on her playing the leads in all the operas."

"The phantom? You mean the one who left the note this morning?"

"Yes. If I didn't know better, I'd say this 'Angel' of yours is the Opera Ghost."

Clare was silent.

"Well," said Meg, suddenly uncomfortable. "Just be careful, Clare."

"I will."

* * *

Clare left a short time later to change for the night. She slipped into the blue satin gown she had worn for Christine's wedding, leaving her hair down, falling around her shoulders and down her back. She was about to go back down to the theatre, when something made her stop and go to the chapel, which was empty as normal.

"Angel?" she asked.

"Clare," came the smooth, sure voice.

"Who are you, Angel?" she asked. "Where are you?"

Erik sighed uncomfortably. "You will see, in time."

"Will you be at the performance tonight?"

"Yes."

Clare was silent for a moment, then asked, "Angel? Are you the phantom? The one they call the Opera Ghost?"

Silence.

"Fine. Don't answer." Clare turned and left.

In the tunnel, Erik thought about his next move. She was already beginning to doubt him. Maybe he should show himself to her tonight. No, he thought better of it. If he did that, she'd want to know what was behind the mask. He battled with himself over this as he moved through the passages to the stage.

He saw Clare standing in the wings, listening to the singers, arms around herself as if she were cold. She was alone.

Erik climbed down silently from his position on the catwalk.

"_I am your angel of music..."_ he sang to her softly from the shadows.

She turned her head toward the noise.

"Where are you?"

"Follow my voice."

He lead her away from the stage, out of earshot, still hiding in the shadows. When she stepped through a doorway, it suddenly became very dark.

"Where are you?" she asked. "Where am I?" She put out her hands, feeling for something, anything.

Something in the way she was moving around blindly gave Erik the suspicion that something was wrong.

"Clare? Are you all right?"  
"Where am I?" she asked fearfully. "Angel- where are you?" He heard the terror in her voice.

"Hey-" came a voice of one of the scene-shifters. Clare heard the swish of a cloak, and heavy footsteps coming after her.

She fled- hands moving wildly, moving away from the sounds of the stage. A few more moments of running and she was hopelessly lost. Her dress caught on something, and she fell, crying out softly. She was in one of the chambers behind the stage, that was mostly used for storage.

"Angel..." she whispered. "I need you..."

"I'm here, Clare."

"Angel! Where are you?"

"I'm here before you."

"Where?"

Clare held out her hand, as if reaching for him.

He held out his gloved hand to her and pulled her up.

"All right?" he asked.

She nodded dazedly. It was dark, and she couldn't see him, but she had the feeling he wouldn't harm her. "Thank you," Clare breathed.

Clare let out a shaky breath, then felt her heart skip in excitement. This was her angel of music, her phantom, there with her. Her grip on his hand tightened. As it happened, it suddenly struck Erik how long it had been since he had touched another human. The last time had been when... when Christine had kissed him. He could still feel that kiss on his lips, even after two years.

Even through his black leather gloves, Clare could feel his hand trembling as it held hers. She put her free hand over it. "What's wrong, Angel?"

He abruptly let go. "Nothing," he said calmly. "Let me take you back."

He lead her gently back to where they had been standing, making sure to stay where she couldn't see him.

"This is as far as I dare go," Erik said.

"Don't leave," Clare said.

"I have to," he said, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her again.

And then, he was gone.

Later, back in his lair, Erik's mind was reeling from the events of the past hour. His emotions were conflicting- torn between happiness and torment. After Christine, he had vowed never to show himself again, but now, there was Clare. As he remembered the feel of her small hand in his, he couldn't help but smile. Her words echoed in his head: "Angel- I need you..."

She had said she needed him.

The words had had a larger impact on him than she could possibly know.

He wanted to see Clare again, soon.

_Go to her,_ screamed his heart. The show's over by now... _go to her._

No! retorted his mind. She'll never see you for who you really are. That's all anyone ever sees. The mask. Stay away. Why put your heart on the chopping block again?

Frustrated with himself, Erik massaged his temple tiredly. Walking over to his organ, he sat down and began to write music furiously, for the first time feeling some of his soul in it.


	4. The First Lesson

A/N: Yay! I just got my first reviews. POTCgirl- my very first reviewer!! I was jumping up and down with excitement when you said you loved it! I was so freaked out that no one would like it.

and

Fox of the Nova- Hey- its you!! So glad to hear you love it. Go see the movie- it is really beautiful. (and gerry butler as the phantom. -swoon-)

Chapter 4- The First Lesson

That night, Clare dreamed of her Angel- half-hidden by a mask, standing in the shadows, watching over her, guarding her, singing to her. Singing in a gentle, sensuous tenor that engulfed all of her senses, washing through her fluidly, caressing her mind.

When she awoke, though, her ears were met with a defeaning silence. Clare shook herself, wondering if she hadn't dreamed all of it.

This is crazy, she thought, throwing the covers aside. Sleep, she knew, would not come now. She threw a thin cloak over her shoulders and took a candle from the bedside table. Leaving her bedroom noiselessly, she began to walk through the halls, unsure where she was going. As she turned into one of the side hallways, she could have sworn she heard music. She paused, waiting, listening pensively. Yes- there it was. It sounded like an organ, playing somewhere in the distance. She began to walk toward the sound, stopping at one of the doors where the music seemed to be resonating from, though it still sounded far away. She reached out to open the door, when she heard a sudden noise from down the hall. She drew back and jerked her head in the direction of the sound.

Nothing.

She let out a breath and was about to turn back to the door when she felt a cold hand on her shoulder.

Fear gripped at her heart, and she screamed.

Another hand covered her mouth, stifling the sound.

Clare began to struggle against whomever was holding her.

"Child-" she heard Madame Giry's voice say.

She stopped moving.

"Madame Giry- I-"

"This door is to be kept shut at all times, Clare. Do you understand me?" she said firmly.

"Yes ma'am," Clare replied.

"I want you back in the dormitories now."

"Yes ma'am," she repeated.

Madame Giry stared after the girl as she walked quickly down the hall, then stared at the door. She knew why Clare had been here. She was looking for the source of the music.

Erik's music.

The music of the night.

* * *

In his lair, Erik was absorbed in his music. He poured his soul into the keys of the organ, in a manner both fierce and gentle. This was his love, his passion. The music was blind to his deformity- it only knew the genius of his mind. If only, he thought, fingers slowing and coming to a stop, resting on the keys. If only people could be like that.

But they weren't. He mused over this, running his fingers lovingly over the keys of the organ. Christine had once told him that his face held no horror for her. He hadn't believed her then, nor did he now. He had seen the fear in her eyes on that night that she had taken his mask off for the first time.

Christine had feared him.

Madame Giry, kind though she was, feared him, as did everyone in the opera house.

The music was his only true friend.

The thought didn't bring him as much comfort as he had hoped.

* * *

A week passed until Clare heard her angel again.

It was a Sunday afternoon; the one day the performers had off, so most of them had gone out into the city, leaving the opera house more or less deserted.

Clare had taken the opportunity to steal off to the main stage. Walking out to the center, she looked out into the empty seats, imagining a full house, waiting to hear her sing. Almost afraid to break the silence, she began to sing softly, a song she had once heard Christine sing.

"_Think of me,_

_Think of me fondly when we've said goodbye_

_remember me, once in awhile_

_Please promise me you'll try_

_then you'll find that once again you long_

_to take your heart back and be free_

_If you ever find a moment _

_spare a thought for me...."_

Growing more confident, Clare's voice strengthened, unaware that she was being watched. Her phantom was there, up in the catwalks, watching her perform, secretly admiring her beauty and her song.

"_We never said_

_Our love was evergreen _

_Or as unchanging as he sea_

_But if you can still remember _

_Stop and think of me_

_Think of all things we've shared and seen_

_Don't think about the way things might have been_

_Think of me_

_Think of me waking silent and resigned_

_Imagine me_

_Trying too hard to put _

_You from my mind_

_Recall those days_

_Look back on all those times_

_Think of the things we'll never do_

_There will never be a day when_

_I won't think of you"_

She paused, imagining the crowd, sitting on the edge of their seats. She could hear the orchestra in her mind, and began to move fluidly around the stage dancing to the invisible song, before slowing to sing again.

Up above, Erik was captivated by her. She had such presence on the stage, she was just like....

"_Flowers fade_

_The fruits of summer fade _

_They have their seasons _

_So do we_

_But please promise me that sometimes_

_You will think_

_Of me"_

She held the last note, letting it resonate throughout the hall.

_"Brava!"_ she heard softly from above her.

She leapt a foot in the air, embarrassed at the thought of someone watching.

Erik laughed at her reaction. "It is only I, Clare."

"The Angel who isn't really an Angel, you mean?"

"If you must call me that, then yes."

"Well, if you aren't an angel, don't you have a name?" she asked.

"I do," he responded. "It's Erik."

"Erik," she rolled the name around on her tongue. For some reason, it seemed to capture all the mystery that came with her 'angel'.

"Your voice is beautiful, Clare," he said. "But, if you don't mind me saying, you're far too tense when you sing. You must relax. Don't lead the music- let the music lead you."

"How?" she asked. "Can you teach me?"

"If you really want me to."

"I do. Come down and show me."

There was a fleeting moment of hesitation in Erik's mind, when he thought about running- not wanting Clare to see him. He knew that once she saw the mask, she would want to know what was behind it. The moment was lost when he saw Clare, gazing up expectantly at where she saw his shadow. He took a deep breath, then began to climb easily down the ropes holding up the catwalks and the curtains, landing in the wings, out of view.

There was a moment of silence. Clare walked closer to where she had heard him land. "Erik? Where are you?"

"Over here," he said from behind her.

She whirled around and saw him, next to the red velvet stage curtain. He was standing so that she only saw half of him.

"How did you-?" she asked, wondering how he had slipped behind her without her hearing.

"I've been around this place long enough to know how to sneak around."

Clare smiled, moving nearer.

Her first impression of Erik was that he was quite handsome, from what she could see of him.

Then he stepped out from behind the curtain so she could see all of him. Clare's eyes were drawn immediately to the white mask that covered half of his face. The mask threw shadows under his eye on one side, and made him look rather sinister. The sight of it sent an involuntary shiver down Clare's spine.

He saw where she was looking, and she saw a shadow of something pass over his face, which she would have described as fear.

"Not what you expected, is it?" he asked, more coldly than he had intended.

Clare was about to agree, but caught herself and merely shrugged. His face might frighten her, but his voice was gentle, and she trusted it.

"Come," he said, gesturing to the stage.

She followed him, nervously, but excited.

He took her hand, and led her to center stage. "Now," he said, "Stand as if you were going to perform."

Clare's spine straightened up.

"Not so rigid," he said. "They can hear it in your voice." He gestured to the "audience". "Relax your shoulders, but keep your posture."

"Good," he said in his soft, silky voice. "Don't move."

He jumped down off the stage into the orchestra pit, in which stood an old piano. "Now sing."

He began to play.

Clare suddenly felt more nervous than she had ever been in her life- more, even than when she was singing before a crowd of people.

Erik stopped playing after the first verse. He got up and joined Clare back on stage. "You're still trying to control the music, Clare." He began to circle around her slowly. "Let the song lead you. Let it live inside of you. Let it take over. Let _it _control your voice- let it do what it will with you." He lowered his head to whisper in her ear, standing behind her. "Feel the song flowing through you... feel its power... and then... let it out. _Surrender_ to it." There was a strange seduction to his voice, Clare found herself falling under some sort of hypnosis when he was this close to her.

He went to the piano. "Again," he said.

He began to play. Clare closed her eyes, thinking about what Erik had said. Without even having to think, her voice launched into the first lines. And she felt it, just like Erik had told her. She felt the song inside of her, possessing her.

She was so caught up in it, she didn't realize the piano stop playing, and Erik come up onto the stage. It was only when the song ended and she opened her eyes that she realized she had been singing alone.

She flushed. "I'm sorry- did you mean for me to stop?"

"No," he said, very softly.

She still looked embarrassed. "I suppose I looked rather foolish..."

Erik shook his head. "No. You were singing from your heart. There's no need to feel ashamed of it." There was a silence, and then Erik asked, in his normal quiet way, "Did you feel it?"

Clare nodded. "I felt it in my mind... it was possessing me, commanding me."

Their eyes locked for a moment- a brief instant, which culminated with the sound of footsteps.

Clare suddenly felt Erik's hand seize her forearm, as the footsteps grew nearer. "Tell no one of me," he said, his eyes boring into hers. Then, he was gone.

* * *

As she walked back to her room, Clare could think of nothing but Erik. It still gave her chills to think of his voice; how it wrapped around her, made her listen to him and only him. And his passion for music... was unlike anything she had ever seen before. In just an hour's time, he had taught her more than any other music instructor ever had. He had taught her to feel, to let the music overtake her.

And then there was the mask to think about.

Why did he wear it? The question nagged at Clare's mind. Was he hiding something? Or hiding from something?

She wanted to know, badly. But somehow, she had the feeling that Erik would be against her knowing. The way he had hidden himself behind the curtain hinted of that. Was he afraid she'd judge him?

When she reached her room, she sat down and penned a note to Christine

_Dear Christine,_

_Hope you are well. I'm writing to tell you that I have found the Angel of Music, and I've never been more curious about a person in my life! He wears a mask, Christine- a white mask that hides half his face. I don't know why, and I fear to ask. But his voice is gentle and kind to me, even if he hides in the shadows. He seems to understand me better than anyone else ever has- except maybe your father. But he's so mysterious, and this nature is driving me quickly insane. _

_What do you know of him?_

_I know you know something, Christine, as you were the one who told me of him after all. I want to know the man behind the mask, to know who he really is._

_Please tell me everything- anything!- I am desperate! _

_I will await your reply. Give my best to Raoul, and I hope to see you soon!_

_Clare_

_

* * *

_you like??? REVIEW!_  
_


	5. Nightsong

Chapter 5- Nightsong

It wasn't long before Clare decided to explore the opera house again at night. This time, she took extra caution to be silent as she headed down the corridor, toward the room that the music came from.

Tonight, she carried no candle, listening with all her will for any sound of footsteps- particularly Madame Giry's.

When she reached the door, she slid wary glances down both sides of the hallway. She heard the faint music coming from somewhere inside, and, with a deep breath, she turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

She noticed at once that the room was an old dressing room- there was a vanity table and mirror, and small sofas and chaises here and there. On the vanity was an old program for Hannibal.

_"Starring Christine Daae,"_ Clare read under her breath, when something else caught her eye.

She turned to face the tall, gilded mirror on the far wall. In front of the mirror was a small, round, wooden table, on top of which was a single rose, tied with a black ribbon. The rose was dead and brown, but all the petals were still intact. The program she held suddenly fluttered out of her grasp. As she bent down to retrieve it, Clare saw that the base of the mirror was somehow ajar from the wall. Curious, she thought. Standing up, she put pressure on it in a sliding motion. With a small groan of protest, the mirror slid aside, and she heard the distant sound of music intensify. Behind the mirror was what she supposed to be a secret tunnel. Clare stepped inside, desperately wishing that she had brought a candle with her.

It was pitch dark in the passageway. She reached out her hand to follow the wall, and found herself touching cold stone, hidden under layers of grime.

She began to walk slowly, thoughts of turning back in her mind. She felt the passage sloping gently upward, then took a step and was sent tumbling down a set of stone stairs that she hadn't seen in the dark. Unable to stop herself, she fell, screaming in pain and surprise.

* * *

Erik was disturbed from his music by the sound of screaming. His head snapped up, and he cocked his head in the direction of the noise. Someone was definitely down here, in his domain. He scowled, and taking his dagger and a torch, jumped into his boat, in search of the intruder. 

Meanwhile, Clare sat up, dizzy with pain and now disoriented. She didn't know which direction she had come from or where she was. She heard something scurry past her, and let out another shriek. _And there were rats_, she thought.

Could it be any worse?

She saw a light flickering in the distance, and prayed that it wasn't some deranged murderer coming to take her life. But as she saw the silhouette of the person bearing the torch, there was a fleeting moment when she feared her suspicions had been confirmed. The figure advanced on her, dagger drawn, before...

"Erik?"

The dagger lowered, and he moved the torch, casting light on Clare.

"Clare? What in hell's name are you doing down here?" he said harshly.

"I- I was..." A sudden pain exploded in the back of her head, and she fainted.

Erik swore under his breath, and laid down the torch, taking Clare's limp body in his arms. She was very light, and fragile. As he carried her down the dark tunnel, he wondered if she wouldn't break if he should drop her.

When he reached the boat, he set her down gently and began to row toward his lair. As they came to the opposite shore, Clare began to stir. As her blue eyes fluttered open, she found herself looking up at Erik, who was standing over her. He turned his masked face down to glance at her, and saw she was awake. She sat up suddenly- too quickly; for the sudden movement of her weight caused the boat to rock back and forth dangerously, before turning over and depositing them into the dark, murky water. Erik felt around for Clare, wrapping his arm around her waist and starting to paddle toward the shore. When the water was shallow enough to stand, he half-carried, half-dragged Clare, who was coughing and spitting out water, out of the lake. Making sure she was secure on the rocks, he dove back in to retrieve his boat, while Clare stood, shivering. He dragged the boat up, the rounded to look at Clare. She cringed at the angry look in his eye.

"I-I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"What were you doing down here?" he phrased again.

"I heard music... I wanted to see where it was coming from."

"Well you found it," he said dryly, eyes moving over her thin, shivering body. "Follow me. You'll need to dry off, or you'll catch cold."

As she followed him, she looked around the cavernous space. There was an organ against the wall, and a large, throne-like chair that looked old and worn. There were candles burning low on nearly every surface. And, she saw, there were mirrors- broken and smashed, the glass still littering the floor.

She followed Erik as he led her back into another room.

"Wait here," he said.

He returned with a cloak and another dress. Clare raised an eyebrow. Why would Erik have a woman's dress down here?

"There used to be a costume storage room down here," he responded to her unspoken question.

She nodded, and he left her alone. Clare saw that she was in some sort of bedroom- there was a large bed, covered in a fine red velvet comforter and pillows. On the table beside the bed was a music box with a monkey carrying symbols on top.

She changed her clothes quickly, discarding her dirty, soaking dress and putting on the one Erik had brought. It was very pretty- black and old-fashioned, almost too elegant, with several flouncy frills on the skirt. Lifting the skirt up, she removed the metal girdle so that it didn't stick out as much. The dress was V-necked in the front, and the neckline plunged slightly more than Clare was comfortable with, but when she looked at her reflection in the mirror, she didn't really mind. She then tried, to no avail, to make her hair presentable. In the end, the result was a stringy mess of reddish-locks, hanging around her shoulders. She threw the cloak over her shoulders- it was heavy, made of black velvet- and stepped out into the tunnel-like hall. She ventured farther down; to what she thought was Erik's room. She saw him inside, lit dimly by a few candles. His shirt was off as he rummaged through a wooden trunk to find another one. In the candlelight, Clare saw that his back was scarred- long, thin gashes running over his skin. He turned around suddenly, and she backed off into the shadows before he could glimpse her. She didn't think he'd take kindly to her watching him.

She walked back out into the main entrance to the cave and sat on the organ bench. There were stacks of scribbled music scripts lying everywhere. Clare picked them up, leafing through each one. Beautiful arias, whole operas- all brilliantly written.

She heard Erik enter.

The papers quickly left her hands as she set them back on the organ top and stood up.

Erik sensed her unease, and found himself not knowing what to say.

Clare broke the silence. "These are really good, Erik," she said, gesturing to his sheet music.

He forced a laugh. "Just my madness," he said, not meeting her eyes.

"Your madness is beautiful, then," she said, without really thinking. When the words left her mouth, she wasn't sure if she should've said them. "So," she said, changing the subject, "you live down here?"

"Yes," he replied.

"How long have you been here?"

"Since I was very young," he replied quietly. "I can't remember exactly."

She looked at him incredulously. "You've lived in this place for most of your life?"

He nodded. "I've been alone for many years," he said, with an involuntary air of sadness.

Clare's heart broke for him, and she asked him, "Why?"

His jaw line tensed. "Because.... I'm not like other humans."

Clare threw back the cloak over her shoulders. In that moment, Erik realized how stunningly beautiful she looked, wearing the black dress, hair falling freely about her shoulders. "You look like any other human to me," she said simply.

He turned away. "You've never seen someone who looks like me. You've never seen another human forced to wear a mask."

"Who forces you?" she asked.

He faced her again, and pointed in the direction they had come in. "Them. All the people of your world. All the people who see a man only for his face." His tone turned angry, and he turned away again, pacing wildly. "There's no one.... _no one_ who could look on me without fear. And don't say that you can. You can't."

"You don't know that," she said, feeling angry at the cold, cruel world that had forced Erik to become like this.

His face suddenly came very close to hers. "Yes, I do!" he hissed. "You're like _them_. You've grown up in _their_ world. You judge by _their_ standards!"

"I can't judge you if I can't see you, Erik! Just let me see you- just for a moment!"

He recoiled as though she had struck him. "No! I won't- I won't let you. That's where I went wrong with Christine...." He held the masked half of his face in his hand.

"Christine?" Clare raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Erik looked as if he'd said too much. "Nothing," he said. Too quickly.

"You knew Christine?"

"I- no," he said.

"Erik," she said, not believing him.

"I- I can't talk about her now, Clare. Please don't ask me." He moved toward the hall leading back to his room. "You can stay here tonight," he said. "I'll take you back tomorrow. You may sleep in the bedroom I showed you earlier."

And then he vanished down the stone passage, leaving Clare, dumbstruck, on the bench.

She went quietly to the bedroom and crawled under the covers, but remained wide awake for some time.

* * *

In his own chamber, Erik sat, head resting on his chin, gazing at a dying candle. 

_Christine_..... His mind spoke her name gently.

Why, dammit- why did Clare want to know? Why did she want to see his cursed wretchedness?

He had no intention of letting her see.

Christine hadn't looked at him the same after the night she had ripped his mask off. Clare would be the same way. She may look at him with pity, but there would always be that initial look of fear in her eyes, after she discovered the truth.

He would never let her see the monster behind the mask.

Several hours later, he got up, heading toward his organ. He needed to compose, needed to free himself.

He stopped outside Clare's room. Brushing aside the black velvet curtain that served as a partition, he looked in on her sleeping form, resting his head on the stone doorframe, taking in this moment of peace. Clare stirred a little, and Erik snapped back to life, leaving her alone again.

Sitting at the organ, he began to play, but very softly. As his mind began to lapse into its trancelike state, his fingers began to play the notes to a song he thought he would never sing again.

"_Nighttime sharpens_

_Heightens each sensation_

_Darkness stirs_

_And wakes imagination_

_Silently the senses _

_Abandon their defenses_

_Slowly, gently_

_Night unfurls its splendor_

_Grasp it, sense it_

_Tremulous and tender_

_Turn your face away _

_From the garish light of day _

_Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light_

_And listen to the music of the night....."_

His song stirred Clare from her light sleep.

She slipped out of bed and out into the main room, where she saw Erik sitting at the organ, back turned away from her.

"_Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams_

_Purge all thoughts of the life you knew before_

_Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar_

_And you'll live_

_As you've never lived before...."_

He suddenly stopped playing, snapping back to the harshness of reality. There were tears in his eyes as he thought of Christine. Clare saw his fists clench and his muscles tense, and began to retreat back to her bedroom, when he stopped her.

"Don't go."

Clare froze.

He turned to face her. "I'm sorry about how I acted earlier," he said solemnly.

Clare waved a hand dismissively. "No- I should be sorry. I- I shouldn't have asked."

There was an awkward pause.

"I suppose I should take you back now," said Erik after a moment. "Before they find you missing."

Clare nodded silently, but her mind was screaming to stay. Next to Erik's world, everything seemed cold and unkind.

They stepped into the boat. Erik rowed slowly, not wanting to have Clare leave him at the end of the tunnel. But the moment came, when Clare stepped out of the boat, turning back to look at the phantom. "You can find your way back from here?" he asked, handing her a candle.

She nodded. "Erik?" she asked him before he left.

"Yes?"

"Will you... I mean- can I see you again?"

A strange look passed over the visible side of his face. "Yes. Sometime..."

"Soon," she said quietly, starting up the broken stairs she had fallen down earlier.

She heard Erik begin to row away, and turned back, wondering- hoping- that he might be doing the same.

But his back was to her, standing straight and tall, face ahead.

Sighing, Clare continued up the stairs, back into her own world.

* * *

But the angel didn't come again for a long time. It was two weeks until Clare heard him again, in the chapel. 

She came in as she did everyday, in the hopes of hearing his voice, but inside knowing that he probably wasn't there.

"Erik?" she said softly. "Are you there?"

No answer. Clare let out a quiet sigh. "Of course not. You're never there anymore. Where are you, Erik?"

"I'm here," came the response.

Clare started. "I had begun to think you had left me."

"Not that easily."

"Where have you been?" she demanded.

"I've been here," he said. "Around the opera house."

"I haven't seen you," she argued.

"But I've seen you," he said mysteriously.

Clare shivered, but not from cold or fear. There was something about the way Erik talked that made her nervously excited.

"Did you hear about the next opera?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied. "You must audition."

Clare nodded. "I want to... but I'm not sure my voice is good enough."

"Your voice is fine. All you need is to learn how to let it out."

"Teach me," Clare suggested. "Like you did that day, on the stage."

"Very well," he said. "But when?"

"At night," she said. "I could come down and meet you..."

Erik mulled over this. The two of them, alone in the depths of the opera house... this was becoming an all-too-familiar situation.

"Erik?"

"Yes... that would be fine. But you mustn't be caught. If anyone were to know where I hid..."

"I know," she said.

"And you will tell no one of me, or of our lessons."

"I understand."

"Then meet me tonight- at the stairs: if you can manage not to fall this time."

She heard the suppressed laughter in his voice.

"Very well, angel, I will," she said lightly.

Erik smiled at her voice.

"Clare- I have to go now," he said.

"No," she whined girlishly. "Stay a while longer."

"I can't. There are...things.... that I must see to. Meet me tonight- after midnight."

With that, Erik left.

* * *

As midnight grew nearer, the phantom found himself growing steadily nervous, a state he most often found himself in while in Clare's presence. He was happy for her friendship, but wished more than anything that she might feel something more... 

He shook himself.

No. That must never happen again, he mentally scolded himself. Disaster had struck the last time he had had feelings like that. Besides- it wasn't right. He felt like he was betraying Christine- whom he had sworn he would love until he died... which would have been a few week ago had it not been for Clare's intervention. It was that part that both comforted and angered him. She had saved him from death; offered him friendship, but in turn had denied him what he had wanted- death, and final peace. And now he was condemned again. For in his mind he knew, no matter what happened, he couldn't fall in love with Clare.

* * *

"Clare?" said Meg as they sat with the other girls, eating supper that night. 

"What?" Clare's head snapped up.

"You are staring off into space. Again!"

"Sorry."

"What is it you dream of, Clare?" Michelle asked, from a few seats down.

Clare, flushing, said nothing and stared down at her plate. She couldn't tell them what she had really been thinking of. But her mind still dwelled on the phantom- Erik. She cast a sideways glance at the old, battered grandfather clock on the wall. It was just after eight o' clock. _Four more hours,_ she thought anxiously.

Four more hours till she would see him again.

It was strange, she thought, how much she found herself looking forward to it. It was strange how she found that all her sub-conscious thoughts were of Erik; how all she wanted to do was to be in his presence, contented just to watch him and hear him sing. She wanted to rip down the walls he had built around himself; she wanted to know all his secrets. She wanted him to need her, as she needed him.

It was strange, she thought, how she had fallen in love with the phantom of the opera.

That notion took her breath away as she repeated it in her mind, almost shyly. A smile crept onto her face as she thought it again. She was in love with Erik.

She went directly to her bedroom after dinner, claiming a headache. The next few hours passed pathetically slowly. Finally, at eleven thirty, she threw on her cloak, tired of waiting, figuring she'd just wait for Erik.

He was already there when she arrived, waiting to take her down into his labyrinth. Secretly, this excited Clare. He had been waiting for her- a half-hour early. Was it possible that he had been looking forward to this as much as she had?

Behind his mask, Clare couldn't read his emotions, which frustrated her; but nonetheless, she greeted him with a small smile.

"You're early," he stated.

"So are you," she countered.

Had the light been better, Clare might have seen him turn slightly red. He helped her into the boat, and they set off.

The singing lesson began the moment they stepped on shore. Erik escorted her over to the organ, placed music in her hands, and she began to sing. Erik would stop her every now and then, correcting her or making suggestions.

Much later, Clare was finally tired, and Erik agreed that they had done enough for the night. The announcement made, Clare collapsed in the large chair, a wave of sleepiness washing over her.

She must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew, Erik was shaking her gently, saying that it was time to go back.

* * *

The lessons continued in that fashion for some time. 

Then, one evening, Clare came rushing in to where he waited for her, looking flushed and excited.

"Oh, Erik they've posted the cast list for the opera! And I'm one of the leads!"

Erik smiled- a true, genuine smile of pride that Clare had scarcely seen before. "That's wonderful, Clare," he said calmly, handing her into the boat as he always did.

"The opera is Aida, and they've cast me as Amneris!" (A/N: this was the only opera i could come up with, and it actually has some significance. if anybody knows anything about it, let me know in a review. I'll try to explain as best as I can, but my knowledge is pretty limited. P.S. points if anyone gets the parallel between Aida and POTO :))

Erik knew of the opera- the story of an Egyptian hero and his lover, an Ethiopian slave named Aida. The prince- Radames, was loved by Amneris, who was jealous of the union between the prince and the slave girl.

But one thing crossed his mind. "If you're Amneris, then who is playing Aida?"

Clare's smile widened. "That's more good news! Madame Giry told me that they probably would have cast me for the lead, but they heard from one of their former prima donnas who wants to return to the stage!"

Erik grimaced. Please, not Carlotta....

"It's Christine Daae."

* * *

(A/N: ooh- sparks will fly..... also... i realize that Christine's surname is now deChagny, however, in this story, she is keeping Daae as her stage name. 

Hope you all liked this chapter... please review!)


	6. The Angel Returns

Chapter 6- The Angel Returns

Erik couldn't mask his shock- his jaw dropped.

Clare, of course, didn't see- she was seated in front of him, back facing him.

Christine was coming back.

To his opera house.

Erik suddenly found it harder and harder to breathe.

Clare sensed his unease. "Erik?" she asked. "What is it?"

He swallowed, trying to clear his voice of any tell-tale emotion. "Nothing."

"You knew Christine, didn't you Erik?"

The question caught him off guard. He remained silent until they were safely in his lair. Clare sat down and looked at him expectantly, wanting answers. Erik looked extremely shaken.

"Tell me," she commanded, though not harshly.

He drew in a deep breath. "Christine...." he began, the name strange on his lips, after it had been silent for these past two years. "As you probably know, used to sing here.

I knew she had talent... I saw the great potential in her. But she was in grief, from the death of her father."

Clare nodded, remembering her own feeling of loss after Monsieur Daae had passed away.

"I..." Erik began, with some difficulty. "I appeared to her... much as I did for you... as the Angel of Music. I earned her trust, as an unseen voice of comfort. I suppose you could say that I... betrayed her, by not telling her who I was. When I finally let her see me... I helped her, taught her to perform, to be great. She soared to greatness, with me at her side." He turned away from Clare, "And I fell in love with her."

Clare's heart dropped. Erik had been in love with Christine?

Erik went on, voice tightening with anger. "But she never loved me. All I asked of her was to love me... to stay with me... but she could not even do that. She chose her precious Vicomte instead!" He spat the words out as if they were poison. "I wanted revenge. I was mad... jealous... so I devised a plan. I gave them my opera to perform, made Christine the lead. We sang together that night, on stage... she looked into my eyes and I saw her fear. I took her down, into this labyrinth.... where I tried to make her understand, that I needed her, that I loved her. But of course, her precious lover couldn't stay away. But I had planned for that," Erik's eyes blazed with a wild fury. "I set a trap for the Vicomte... then... I gave Christine a choice. To spend the rest of her days with me, or send her fiancé to his death."

Clare shuddered involuntarily. Erik's story was scaring her, more than anything had in her life.

"She cried... she begged me to let them go, and I..." Erik broke down, pounding his fist on the organ top. "I realized that she could never love me... that no one ever would."

Clare's heart broke for him- this poor creature of darkness who, despite his gruesome story of obsession, Clare found herself understanding.

Erik's tears were flowing down his exposed cheek. "She kissed me that night," he said quietly. "And then I let them go. And I told her... _never... to tell... anyone_."

He looked at Clare, eyes ablaze behind his mask, ablaze with contempt. "But it seems as though she's betrayed me again." he said bitterly "Because you're standing here."

Clare's eyes widened with anger and hurt at Erik's words-, which came with the unexpected connotation of annoyance. "If you didn't want me here, Erik, all you had to do was say so," she said icily. But for all her coolness, she could not disguise the tears that were forming.

Erik's look softened a little, "Clare... I didn't-"

"Take me back." She cut him off tersely. Part of her was afraid that he wouldn't listen, that he would keep her there forever.

But Erik nodded deftly, and did as she asked. He was angry at himself mostly, for saying the stupid things he had- the thoughtless, detrimental things that he had said. He hadn't meant to imply that he didn't like Clare being there with him. But with the feelings, the emotion running high... He was trying to fight off any feelings he might have for Clare, but it came out wrong. The sheer irony of it all made Erik want to throw himself off the boat and drown himself in the sea of his despair.

The fact that Clare could never feel anything for him was obvious.

She was a beautiful, innocent girl, with a future.

He was a murdering, gruesome, insane monster.

Who at the moment was burning with the desire to tell her... everything, to show her everything....

But her sullen silence crushed his willpower.

When she was out of sight, he left the boat where it was, returning to his lair through another secret passage, made into the side of the wall, which he used most often. The boat was more of a theatrical effect.

In truth, he was leaving the boat in the hope that Clare might return to him, her Angel. Maybe if he waited long enough....

But as he sat- as each interminable moment slipped past, he found himself becoming steadily maddened by it.

He walked over to the mirrors; the mirrors that he had broken after Christine had left. He slipped off his mask, and raised his eyes to his reflection in the cracked glass.

The sight of his own face still horrified him.

The deathly pale, twisted flesh, the scar tissue below his eye- each scar and deformity that he had been cursed with was still there. He lowered his gaze, unable to look. Looking down at the mask, he sang softly,

"_Masquerade_

_Paper faces on parade_

_Masquerade_

_Hide your face so the world will never find you...."_

Then he slipped the white porcelain over his hideous face.

Later in the evening, he heard a noise coming from down the passage. He sat bolt upright, wondering if it was Clare coming back. His heart leapt at the prospect of a second chance. He turned away, trying to appear casual, not wanting to let Clare see his anxious state of mind. He heard the boat scraping the stone floor.

"_Erik?"_ A voice breathed.

Erik froze, his heart stopping.

It wasn't Clare standing before him.

It was Christine.

She was still in traveling clothes- he suspected she had just arrived.

"Ch-Christine." he said in awe. He had no idea what to do- should he be happy to see her, tell her he still loved her... or should he be angry? "What are you doing here?"

Christine smiled weakly. "I came to see you."

"Come to see if the monster was still alive?" he asked icily. "_Madame de Chagny_?" he added.

Christine looked slightly stung, but didn't move. "I never thought you a monster, Erik."

"Another lie."

"Believe what you will. But I promise you, it's the truth." She moved closer to where he stood. "Clare told me she discovered you."

"Yes- and that was of your doing, I suspect," he snapped.

"I stand by what I did," said Christine.

"Why did you do it, Christine?" he asked in anguish. "I pledged to live my life in solitude- as I watched you row away with HIM. And I had two years of it, until you sent her- a reincarnation of you, no doubt- to do the same thing you did, I'll wager."

"Do you even know her story?" Christine asked. "Did you ever think that I told her of you because I thought you could help her?"

"Does it matter now?" he asked hotly. "Does any of it matter now? She isn't coming back. I told her about what happened between us. She ran. She is not coming back."

"Do you want her to?" Christine slipped in quickly.

"I-" he stopped, before he said too much.

Christine gave him a knowing look. "What are you afraid of?"

His eyes narrowed. "Take your pick. Being betrayed. Being called a monster. Harming someone that I love, again."

"Or maybe you're afraid to think that just maybe, she might love you?"

"She doesn't. She can't. She won't."

"Anything's possible, Erik."

"She _won't,_" he said icily. "Because I _will not let her_."

"Erik-"

"Just go, Christine."

Her eyes remained soft. "If that's what you want, then I'll go." She turned to go back to the boat. "Two years ago, you asked me to save you from your solitude. But it wasn't me who could do that. It's possible that Clare is. Just ask her to."

And she, too, left, leaving Erik more confused than ever.

Upstairs, the Vicomte de Chagny was seething.

They had barely arrived back in Paris, and his wife had already run off to see her "Angel of Music". Passing him off with some story about going to see Meg. He saw through it, considering that Meg had just come in, looking for Christine. Raoul had suspected... when they had arrived that Christine would try to see the phantom by the way she had been strangely quiet on the ride there.

He knew that she had forgiven Erik for what he had (almost) done to them, but Raoul himself was far from that point. In his mind, he knew that he would never forgive the phantom. He clenched his fists in subdued rage... what if Christine still loved that fiend?

The threat had loomed over him ever since Christine had decided to return to the theatre, which had also been an unexpected announcement. Ever since that day, he had feared something like this happening.

"Raoul?" came a deep, male voice from behind him. Raoul turned toward the man in the doorway- his friend, Martin deCroix, a native of Paris. "What is it?" Martin asked.

"Christine," said the Vicomte dejectedly.

"Not having problems already, are you my friend?" Martin asked lightly.

Seeing the scowl on Raoul's face, he sobered.

"Seriously, Raoul. What is it?"

"Christine has gone off to see her phantom, Martin."

Raoul had explained all about what had happened to Martin- the two were very close friends, and Raoul knew that the other man would have no reason to divulge anything.

Raoul went on. "I'm worried about her. Ever since we decided to come here, she's been... different. I'm afraid she still might have... feelings.... for him."

Martin stood beside him. "Well... if she isn't back in an hour- we'll go after her. You remember how to get down there... to the lair?"

"Yes," said Raoul testily. He doubted he would ever forget that passageway- the pathway down into hell. But going there again... he wasn't sure if that was a good idea. If they angered the phantom- it could put their very lives in jeopardy.

Thankfully, Christine returned less than a half hour. When she did, a relieved Raoul pulled her aside and questioned her.

"Christine- tell me, and tell me honestly. Where were you just now?"

Christine defiantly avoided her husband's eyes. She thought of lying, but the thought of betraying Raoul's trust was more than she could bear to see happen. So she settled for the truth.

"I went to see Erik."

Raoul's eyes flashed with anger and hurt. He turned away.

"Raoul-"

"Have you not forgotten, Christine, what he nearly did to us? How he almost _killed_ me?"

"No- of course not, but-"

"Christine... I forbid you to see Erik again."

"I'll do what I will."

"No!" said Raoul sharply, turning back to her. "You will not do what you will, because you are my wife and I love you. You may have been blinded by your "angel's" false illusions, but I am not. He will try to take you again, Christine, and so help me God, I will do anything in my power to stop him!" He spat out viciously.

Christine looked at him disgustedly. "What's gotten into you, Raoul? What happened to the happy, loving man I married?"

"Don't start, Christine," he said, annoyed.

"I don't believe I was the instigator of this quarrel!"

"It wouldn't have been a quarrel if you would just listen!" He dropped to his knees before her, taking her hands and pleading. "Christine- in the name of our love, please promise me never to go there again." It shocked Christine to see how close her husband actually was to tears.

"Raoul," she began again. "You know that I love you. And Erik knows that I love you. He won't try to take me again."

"How do you know that?" Raoul protested. "How do I know that?"

"You must believe me," Christine said simply.

In her own room, Clare was mired in the swamp of her own thoughts when Christine knocked on her door.

"Clare?"

"Come in."

Christine entered to see Clare lying on her bed, looking thoughtful, but at the same time, frustrated. Christine sat beside her.

"Tell me everything."

Clare sighed. "Christine- I'm more confused than I have ever been in my life."

"Go on."

"You wrote me about the Angel of Music. Well, I found him. His name is Erik."

"Mmmm."

"Tell me everything you know about him, Christine. I know you know. He told me about you."

"I will, I promise. But first let me hear about you. Erik is giving you lessons?"

Clare nodded. "Or at least- he was. He told me about what happened between the two of you, and how you had promised him never to tell anyone else about him. But you told me. He was angry, Christine, I could tell. So I left. I don't want to be anyone's burden."

Christine bit her lip. She knew that Erik didn't really feel that way- she knew he cared about Clare; valued her friendship, but she knew how Clare felt about his words of rejection. Clare was used to rejection and hurt- she had experienced more than her fair share of it living with her father- and as a result, she would build up walls around herself. Involuntarily, of course, but the walls had been created nonetheless. Though she never admitted it, Clare was afraid to love anyone... and was afraid of anyone to love her. Erik's words weren't meant to be taken seriously- they had been said out of pain and old anguish. But Clare had taken them seriously.

Clare was looking at her expectantly.

"Did he ever let you see him?" Christine asked.

Clare shook her head. "Why? What's behind his mask?"

"That isn't important-"

"Of course it is!" said Clare indignantly. "What's behind the mask?"

"His face, of course," said Christine dismissively.

Clare threw her an unconvinced look. "That's not all, and you know it."

"It's not my place to tell you, Clare. Only Erik can. What's important is being able to see the soul behind the mask."

Clare sighed. "Well, none of it matters now. Erik obviously didn't want me there to begin with- I should never have gone."

"That isn't true," said Christine. "And don't say you regret going."

Clare involuntarily blushed. "I suppose I don't," she admitted.

Christine nodded. "I was hoping you both would find each other. Just like I had found him before."

"But you are the one he still thinks about, Christine. I see it in his eyes; I saw it when he told me..."

Christine held up her hand, with her wedding band on it. "I made my choice," she said, with an air of sadness. "Erik knows this- he accepts it."

"But that does not erase his feelings for you," said Clare, frustrated. "He's just so alone- the walls around him are built too thick..."

"Listen to me, Clare. All his life, Erik has been denied acceptance. He has been rejected by all humanity- swearing himself to a life of solitude. And if he stays alone, he'll die that way."

"If he stays alone," Clare repeated thoughtfully. She met Christine's eyes. "I think..." she hesitated, then said it, "I think I'm falling in love with him, Christine."

Her friend smiled. "Then go to him, Clare," said Christine. "Whether he will admit it or not, I think he cares for you too."

"But if he doesn't..."

"Clare- trust me. Erik will not turn you away. Besides- you two aren't so different. Go and see him."

She stood and left, with a final, encouraging nod.

When she had left, Clare mused over the possibility. She would love to go see Erik, to tell him how she felt, but there was a little voice in the back of her head- the voice that her father had created years ago- telling her that she would never be loved by anyone. _You're useless_, it said. _No one could ever love you. You're worthless_. Clare shifted. Maybe she would go see Erik again.

But not tonight.


	7. Rehearsals and New Acquaintances

(A/N: this is kind of a short little filler chapter…. I needed a way to pass time and advance the plot a little bit!)

Chapter 7- Rehearsals and New Acquaintances

Over the next few days, casting was finished up for the production of Aida, and rehearsals began. The opening day was scheduled for nearly a month and a half later- a relatively short time. As the practices became more and more intense, Clare found herself thinking less and less about her angel. She hadn't gone to see him like Christine had advised her. She wasn't sure if she was afraid to go back or not, but every time she would start for the labyrinth, she would stop herself, and go off to rehearse one of her songs.

Erik, on the other hand, was living his life in a state of what could probably be classified as misery, angry at himself for keeping Clare away. He watched her every day, from Box 5, as she practiced on the stage. He had noticed, though, that her singing was not nearly as good as it had been when he had been teaching her. Her voice lacked the emotion, and though every note was clear and polished, the performance still seemed dead and lifeless.

One evening, after rehearsals, Clare and Christine were met by Raoul and another man who Clare had never seen before. She learned a moment later that the man was Raoul's friend Martin. The men had come to extend a dinner invitation, which was accepted, with a promise to meet in front of the theatre in an hour's time. When Clare entered her room to change, she found a single red rose, tied in a black ribbon, resting on her pillow. Her heart skipped- he had been there....

She was contemplating going down to Erik- it had been awhile since she had last seen him, and she found herself missing him- but Christine knocked on her door, ready to leave. Clare scrambled to slip into a simple green dress, and pin up her hair before joining Christine. The two women left the opera house. Christine took Raoul's arm, and Martin offered his to Clare, who accepted rather shyly. They began to walk casually into the city- unaware that they were being watched from above, by none other than the phantom himself.

On the rooftop, Erik's heart was dying a little as he watched the two couples walking, carefree and happy. Clare looked happy- he wondered if she had forgotten him completely. He despised the man she was strolling with, but couldn't help thinking how he would never be able to walk with Clare like that; in public, together. She was talking, laughing, and having fun. He sighed. She belonged to this world- not to his realm of dark tunnels and eternal cold.

And yet, in his mind, there was still a fervent hope that somehow, someway, Clare might still care for him.

He wished that with all his soul.

The four of them were seated at a table in a very fancy Parisian cafe, making light, merry conversation, sharing gossip and jokes. Clare actually found that she was enjoying herself- which was seldom true in social situations. Raoul's friend Martin turned out to be welcome company- he was handsome and friendly, and altogether charming. And, Clare noticed, he actually seemed interested in her, to her surprise.

"So do tell us, ladies," he said at one point. "Have you heard anything from the opera ghost?"

Clare said nothing, but Christine said lightly, "Of course not. I myself don't even believe that he exists."

"What about you, Clare? Do you believe in the 'opera ghost'?" Martin asked.

She felt Christine give her a small nudge under the table, and she shook her head. "It's mere child's play, Monsieur deCroix."

"Please, call me Martin," he said with a grin.

"Well, if there is an opera ghost," said Raoul thoughtfully, "we'll make sure that he doesn't get in the way of your performance next week." His voice was cheery, but the look he exchanged with Christine made her blood run cold.

Aside from mention of the 'opera ghost' the rest of the evening passed happily. Afterward, Christine and Raoul returned to the flat that they owned in the city while Martin escorted Clare back to the Opera House.

"So," he said, by way of conversation, "are you excited about performing next week?"

"Oh, yes," said Clare. "But nervous."

"Is this your first time on stage?"

"I've had some smaller roles- mostly in dance before. This is my first time as a lead."

"I'm sure you'll be wonderful," Martin said.

"Are you coming?"

"Yeah," he replied casually, glancing over at her with kind eyes. By this time, they had reached the steps of the theatre.

"Thank you for escorting me back, Martin," Clare said politely.

"Sure thing." He smiled. "I'm glad to have met you, Mademoiselle Darnier."

"Call me Clare," she replied with a smile.

Martin returned her look with his own slow, easy smile. Then, he kissed her hand gently, and bid her goodnight.

Clare returned to her own room, disregarding the rose from Erik, changed into her nightclothes, and went to bed.

Down in the labyrinth, Erik had given up hope of Clare returning to him that night. He cursed himself mentally, feeling especially lonely. He began to play his organ, pouring his broken emotions into the music.

A/N: Next chapter: will Erik and Clare get back together???????


	8. Reconciliation

Chapter 8- Reconciliation

As the week before the opening performance drew to its culmination, Erik observed Clare in the company of the Vicomte's friend more often than not. He would watch them- whether from his box, or from the rooftop, or from another one of his hiding places. Clare seemed to be happy with him, though Erik cringed at the thought of a romance between them. In his heart, he had hoped that Clare would have felt something for him.... but what he was seeing more and more frequently now did nothing to convince him of that.

When she returned from her final rehearsal before the show, Clare found another rose on her pillow, along with a note.

_Clare,_

_Have you forgotten me?_

_Your Angel of Music_

All her feelings for Erik came flooding back over her like a tidal wave. She had forgotten... for awhile, but now..... She thought of him, down there alone. Did he think about her, she wondered. She suddenly wanted to see him- the need swelled up inside of her until she couldn't suppress it any longer.

There was a knock on her door.

"Clare?" came Martin's voice.

She opened the door slightly.

Martin cleared his throat. "Um- I was wondering if you would join me for dinner tonight."

Clare didn't think twice. She declined politely, making the excuse of needing to rest before tomorrow's performance. Martin nodded, looking slightly dejected, and walked away. She waited just long enough to make sure that he was safely away, then threw a grey cloak over her shoulders and hurried off to the dressing room. Her feet knew the way automatically, she found herself behind the mirror quickly. _I'm coming, Erik,_ she repeated mentally, over and over again. The boat was waiting for her at the shore. She stepped in and began to row, until the sight of Erik's home appeared before her eyes. He was at the organ, playing furiously. She stepped onto the stone floor, and flew up the steps until she was behind him. She watched him, soundlessly, until his song ended and he sat, quiet and unmoving.

"Erik."

He turned in astonishment. "Clare?" he breathed, standing up to face her.

She gave a sad smile. "I'm sorry, Erik," she said. "I'm so sorry-" There were tears in her eyes.

He touched her arm gently. "You have nothing to be sorry about, Clare," he said. "It is I who should apologize to you. I did not mean to make you think that I did not want you here. The truth is that I-"

Clare shook her head. "Let's not talk about this," she said. "It was so long ago... now it seems so trivial and stupid."

There was a silence.

Then Erik asked her, "Why did you come here, tonight?"

Clare shifted. "I wanted to ask you if you would teach me again. I wanted to practice with you one last time, before the show tomorrow night."

Erik smiled weakly. "Very well then. If that is what you want."

Clare nodded.

"I don't think it would be wise for me to push your voice too far, this close to the performance," Erik began. "However, you must remember everything I've told you all along. I watched you in rehearsals, Clare, and you sung with no life in your voice."

Clare stared at the faded Oriental rug on the floor, feeling ashamed. She had let him down, and she hated the feeling. She made a silent vow never to disappoint him again.

Erik sat down again and gave her the introduction to one of her songs. Clare surrendered herself to the music, let it fill her and lead her, as Erik had taught her to. When the song ended, he looked pleased.

"Better?" she asked.

"Perfect," he said quietly, turning on the bench to face her. "You must sing like that tomorrow."

"Will you be there?"

"I am always there," came the reply.

Clare sat down in a chair opposite the organ and studied Erik for a moment. He looked exceedingly uncomfortable when she did that.

"Erik?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"How did you come to live here? If you don't mind me asking, that is."

He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "I'll tell you, though I warn you- it is not a happy tale." He sighed again. "When I was born, I was.... I had a condition that distorted one side of my face," he involuntarily touched his mask. "My mother was afraid to touch me- she never held me, never kissed me as a boy. She gave me to a band of traveling gypsies... they put me in a cage, used me as a display for their show. People everywhere would come to see 'the Devil's Child'."

A shiver passed over his face as he remembered the beatings and jeering of the onlookers. "That was how I learned that the world was a dark, cruel place... and that I could never be accepted anywhere. My life passed in that way- I lived in a desolate hell, receiving no love or compassion from anyone. One day... the gypsies came to Paris- not too far from here. Many of the children from the Opera House- member of the chorus and such- ventured out to see them. They laughed at me, too. Except for one girl. She looked on me with pity, not spite. She helped me escape, gave me refuge inside these walls. She took care of me..." He met Clare's eyes. "That girl was Madame Giry."

Clare nodded, understanding. So that was why the "ghost" demanded his pay be sent to Madame Giry. She was the only other one who knew where to find him.

"Since that day, I have lived here. This Opera House has become my home, my sanctuary. He looked at the walls with a mixture of love and sadness. "But it has also been my cage. I can never go out there, into the world."

He fell silent, as Clare let his story sink in. It made her shiver with anger and pity for him, for all the horrors he had been forced to live through. She stood up and walked over to where he sat, kneeling down before him. She took his hand gently in hers, feeling it tremble in her grasp. "Erik," she whispered his name softly, filled with sadness for him.

There were tears in his dark eyes, and Clare felt her own eyes growing wet.

When his began to fall, she wiped them off his face with her hand.

Erik was shaking- Clare was so close to him now- the human contact was foreign to him.

"Clare?" he asked her.

"Yes, Erik?"

"Promise me something."

"Anything."

"Promise me.... promise me that you'll never take off my mask."

Clare looked taken aback. "Why?"

"Just promise."

"I promise. If that's what you want."

"It is." She saw his face relax at her answer.

Erik wasn't sure what made him ask her to promise that- the words had just come out. But he was glad that she had- now maybe she wouldn't be afraid.

In her own mind, Clare remembered what Christine had said to her. That she and Erik weren't so different. She was beginning to understand; they had both been rejected in their childhoods.... they had both learned to be lonely. _But no longer_, she thought. She had him now, and maybe, if she gave him time, he would come to accept her.

"Erik?" she asked, feeling suddenly tired.

"Yes?"

"Would you mind terribly if I stayed here tonight?"

He cocked his head, as though unsure if he had heard her properly. "You- want to stay here?"

She nodded.

"Of course," he said, sounding rather shocked.

She stood. "Thank you," she said, and before heading back to her room, leaned down and kissed his unmasked cheek, leaving the room before he had time to react. When she had gone, he leaned back against the organ, stunned.

He reached up and touched the spot where her lips had just contacted his skin. He couldn't believe it. She had just asked him if she could stay, down here with him in his dark place of solitude, and then she had kissed him, willingly.

He wondered if she'd ever know how much that meant to him.


	9. The Demons of the Night

A/N: Lots of angst in this chapter!!!!

p.s.- Litagirl- if you're reading this.... write me a nice LONG review, savvy??

Chapter 9- The Demons of the Night

Late in the night, Clare awoke to a strangled yell. She sat bolt-upright in bed, first trying to remember where she was. And then she remembered.

She was in the labyrinth. And if she was here, then the yell must have come from...

"Erik," she breathed, swinging her legs out of bed and hurrying down the hall. When she came to his room, she found him thrashing about in his own bed, which, on closer examination, she realized was a coffin. She cringed at the sight of the long, narrow box.

"No..." she heard Erik cry out.

"Erik!" she said loudly, gripping his arm firmly and shaking him awake.

He sat up, looking around wildly, breathing hard. "What- what happened?" he panted.

"You were having a nightmare, Erik."

He didn't meet her eyes.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Fine," he said shortly.

"What were you dreaming about?" Clare asked. "You were thrashing around pretty violently..."

He didn't answer.

"Erik, answer me," Clare commanded.

"Everything," he said hoarsely. "Memories... too many memories...." he held his head in his hands. "Just go," he moaned into his hands. "Just leave me."

Clare stood up reluctantly. She was in the doorway when she heard Erik say

"Wait."

She turned back.

"Stay," he pleaded. "Please stay," he said, conflicted.

She crossed the room in a second and knelt down beside him again. "I'm here, my angel," Clare whispered. "I'm here."

Her voice soothed him, and his body relaxed from its tense state. They sat together in a peaceful silence, as Erik calmed down from his restless fit.

Awhile later, Clare asked, "Why do you sleep in a coffin?"

Erik shrugged. "I guess I was hoping that maybe I'd just die while lying in it... but that hasn't happened yet."

"I wish you wouldn't," she said. "It's frightening.... it's.... cynical. And it can't be very comfortable," she added.

"It never really bothered me," he said. "I used to pray the day would come, anyway."

They were both silent again.

"You should rest now," said Erik finally. "You'll need to be ready for tomorrow night."

"Are you sure?" she said hesitantly. "Will you be all right?"

He nodded. "Yes. Go."

"Very well. Goodnight, my angel."

After Clare left, Erik lay back against the pillow in the coffin, eyes wide open, having no intention of going back to sleep. He didn't want to wake Clare again with another one of his raving nightmares. He wished she hadn't found out.... what would she think of him now?

Despite his efforts though, Erik found himself drifting into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

* * *

When she awoke the next morning, Clare tiptoed down the hall to his room. He was sleeping peacefully, rolled over on his side. She smiled at his sleeping form. With the absence of his flashing eyes, Erik looked much less dangerous- almost childlike. Pieces of his dark hair fell across his forehead, casting shadows over his face in the dim light. His mask was still on- it suddenly struck Clare how uncomfortable it must be for him. Something made her want to remove it, but the promise she had made to him the night before held her back. It wasn't worth betraying his trust, and aside from that, Clare was afraid of what Erik might do. He wasn't exactly harmless- she had seen his temper flare up a few times, but knew that his wrath would be much worse if she took the mask off. Still, she was dying to know what was behind it. She had heard horrible things from the girl's gossip; some said he was a hideous monster, others said he had no face at all- that the only thing behind the mask was lat, blank skin. Still others said the right side of his face was dead- blackened and decaying. But Clare refused to believe any of the stories- not until she had seen Erik for herself. Which might never happen, she thought, given the fact that she had stupidly promised never to remove the mask. Why hadn't she thought more about it? She asked herself. Why didn't she realize that after she promised, she would never be able to slake her curiosity? But what could she have said? He had asked her, in his pitiful way, asked her for her word, her promise. He had looked at her with his sad eyes and begged her never to expose him.... how could she not have agreed?

* * *

Above them, in the opera house, it was after ten o' clock, and no one knew the whereabouts of Clare. Rehearsals had started nearly three hours ago, and she was nowhere to be found. Her understudy had been called in to sing her role, but as Christine stood on the stage, she knew that the girl was nowhere near as good as Clare. Christine was slightly worried for her friend- hoping that she was safely in the Angel's care. She thought of the possibility of Erik holding her hostage.... she didn't think he would, but she had no way of being sure. She knew, though, that if Erik had her, she would at least be safe- Erik couldn't harm her.

Raoul and Martin were frantic as well- standing in the theatre, talking in hushed voices. When the actors were given a break, the two hurried up to Christine.

"Any sign of her?" Martin asked frantically.

Christine shook her head. "Nothing."

"Do you think- Christine- do you think that he.... took her?" Raoul asked fearfully.

"He- you mean the opera ghost?" Martin demanded.

"I'm not certain," said Christine. "But no one's seen her since last night."

"We should go after her," said Raoul.

"If she isn't back in an hour, I'll go down there," she said.

"I'm coming with you," said Raoul.

"And me," said Martin.

"No!" she said quietly, but forcefully. "You aren't even supposed to know where the labyrinth is, Raoul. And we swore to Erik that we wouldn't tell," she shot a meaningful look in Martin's direction. "Besides- he might try to kill you."

"Not if we get him first," said Martin savagely.

"Have you heard nothing I just said?" Christine said in frustration. "Neither of you are coming!"

"But-" Martin protested.

"Miss Daae! Er- I mean, Madame deChagny... we must begin again!" the conductor called her over.

Christine shot a last look at both men. "Don't either of you think about going down there. Or I promise you- if Erik doesn't kill you... I will."

She hurried back onstage.

Martin looked at Raoul. "You know where the entrance to his lair is?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"Yes," said Raoul slowly.

"I don't care what Christine says- I think we should go."

"Maybe...." said Raoul. He was beginning to think of something. Ever since they had come back to the Paris Opera House, Christine had been having strange dreams- that she wouldn't share with him. And just two nights ago, she had awakened calling out that monster's name. Raoul's fists clenched with rage at the thought of Christine thinking about that horrible excuse for a man.

"What is it, Raoul?" Martin asked, seeing his friend's look of distress.

Raoul seethed. "This business with the opera ghost has gone too far. He took Christine, and now he's taken Clare. And he.... he still holds Christine's mind. She has dreams about him- she calls his name in her sleep. It disgusts me... more than anything else on this earth. It wasn't enough for him to let us go. I want revenge."

"What do you suggest we do?"

"I don't know. But I'll think of something. We're going to end the monster's reign of terror, Martin. Once and for all."

Moments later, Clare came bolting onto the stage. "Sorry I'm late!" she apologized.

"Where have you been?" Madame Giry asked sternly.

"I was.... I... I..." she stumbled. "I was... out."

"Out?" Madame Giry raised an eyebrow.

"We should continue," Christine put in quickly. "We've already wasted enough time."

Later in the day, when the rehearsals were ended, and Christine and Clare were getting into their costumes, Christine took her friend aside.

"Raoul and Martin are suspicious," she said quietly, so none of the other dancers could hear.

"Of what?" Clare asked.

"Of Erik. They believe he took you... like he took me."

Clare shook her head. "But he didn't- I went myself."

"I know. And I'm glad. But you can't do this again. I'm afraid of what Raoul might do, Clare. He is unsettled lately... I fear he might want revenge on Erik."

"I didn't mean to stay that long-" Clare said under her breath. "But you can't tell the time of day down there.... I didn't realize how late it was until we returned."

Christine smiled wanly. "I know. Erik has that way of making you lose yourself, doesn't he?"

Clare nodded. "He made me promise him something last night, Christine."

"What was that?"

"He made me promise to never take off his mask, no matter what. I said yes, but now that I think about it, it's driving me mad. Whatever he's hiding.... it can't be that bad, can it?"

"I suppose not," said Christine.

"Can't you tell me?" Clare asked.

Christine shook her head. "No. That is Erik's secret. Only he can choose whether or not to reveal it."

"I want him to show me, Christine. I want him to be able to show me his whole self, without fear."

"You have to show him that, then."

"How?"

"I don't know. You have to let him know that you care for him no matter what. He has to see that, then maybe he'll let you in."

"But I do," Clare protested. "I know I do."

"Then don't tell me," said Christine pointedly. "Tell him. But in the meantime, be careful, and be wary."

Christine left, leaving Clare to her thoughts. She wanted to tell Erik how she felt... but the voices in her head again stopped her. She was too afraid of not being loved in return.

As the curtain rose on the stage, Erik sat forward in his seat, in Box Five, which had been left open for him, waiting to see Clare. He was dressed in jet-black evening attire, wearing his white porcelain mask, as usual. When Clare came on, his breath caught in his throat. She was stunning- dressed as a beautiful Egyptian princess, hair piled half-up and half-down, curled into ringlets that framed her thin face. Her dress was sleek and form fitting, and sleeveless. When she sang, her voice echoed through the whole theatre, melodious and flowing. She was perfection. As she sang, he fell under her spell, transfixed by her presence on stage.

When the opera was finally over, he stood and applauded with the rest of the audience, before making a quick exit so as not to be seen.

* * *

"You were wonderful, Clare!" Christine gushed when the show was over. The women were backstage in a dressing room, taking off their costumes and stage makeup.

"Wasn't she?" put in Meg Giry. "You two were both positively stunning!"

"I was so nervous," Clare confessed. "I don't think there was a moment when my heart wasn't pounding. It was like I was walking around in a dream..."

She looked rather dazed.

"Its the harsh stage lights," said Christine. "I remember my first time... I thought I had died and gone to heaven, it was so bright."

She slipped out of her costume and back into her dress. "I've got to run," she said. "Raoul's taking me to dinner somewhere- he said its a surprise. So goodnight!" She hugged each of the girls, then, with a final smile and congratulations, she left.

Meg finished changing before Clare.

"Shall I wait for you, Clare?" she asked her friend.

"No, Meg, that's all right," she said with a tired smile. "I'll be along in a minute."

"All right," said Meg. "I'll see you later on, then. You were wonderful, Clare! The opera has a new prima donna, I think!" She hurried off, no doubt to gossip with the other girls.

Clare heard most of the other cast members leave also, bidding her goodnight. She slowly changed out of her costume. She sat down before a large mirror. Taking a soft cloth and a basin of water, she began to remove the dark stage makeup. The thick eyeliner took some scrubbing, but she somehow managed to remove all traces of it from her ivory skin. She jumped when she heard a door creak open.

"Meg?" she called out into the silence.

No answer.

An involuntary smile spread across her lips. If it wasn't Meg, then it probably was....

"Erik?"

Still no answer.

She wiped the last of the makeup off, and stood up quietly.

"Erik?" she called again. She heard someone move. "Erik- if that's you, come out." She realized that her heartbeat was abnormally rapid, and she prayed that it was Erik there. She looked around expectantly, but her angel did not appear. She heard more footsteps. "Erik?" she said, voice now fearful.

"Who the hell's Erik?" came the sound of a drunken voice from behind her.

Her heart was suddenly gripped by icy cold fingers of fear as she turned around to face her father.

"So," he said, looking at her rather cross-eyed. "Here ye are. Thought ye'd seen the last o' me, didn' ya, girl?"

Clare tensed. Her father's bulky frame was blocking the way out.

"Yer workin' now, ain't yeh Clare?" he slurred. "How's 'bout slippin' yer ol' man a few francs like a good little girl?" he asked.

Clare narrowed her eyes. She didn't have that much money in her possession- she wasn't paid tremendously, and even if she had, she wouldn't give it to him. "You'll not get a cent from me," she said scornfully, though her voice wavered.

He advanced, and she backed up into the vanity bench.

"Ignorant little chit!" he growled, striking her hard across the face. He grabbed her arms firmly, his dirty fingernails puncturing the skin on her bare arms. "You wanna rethink that answer, girl?" he asked viciously, shaking her.

Defiantly, she shook her head. She had been too passive before- she was resolved to stand up for herself now- even if it meant her death. He shoved her hard into the wall. She hit her head on the stone, and fell to the floor, cowering in fear, realizing how truly defenseless she was.

"One last chance, Clare," he said tauntingly, moving closer to stand over his daughter.

She shook her head. "Worthless little whore!" he spat, kicking her in the chest. She cried out in pain. Her father raised his hand to strike her again, when he was suddenly knocked off his feet by a black-cloaked figure.

Clare gasped in relief- her angel had come for her.

With a strangled yell, Erik threw Clare's father back, ramming him into the opposite wall. The other man, surprised by Erik's great strength, grunted at the impact. Erik let him fall, then went for his throat. Clare's father kicked out, hitting the phantom in the stomach, and used his moment of pain to force him off of him. Erik's only coherent thought was of inflicting as much pain as he could on the man. He punched him with all his might- feeling blood flow.

"Erik-" he heard Clare's strained voice say.

He looked over at her.

She was huddled in a corner, shivering from fear. She looked so forlorn that he dropped her father and went over to her- leaving his half-conscious body on the floor. He needed to get her out of that room- get both of them away from this attacker. He took her hand and helped her up.

"Come on," he said.

On the ground, her father was rising. "I'll kill you, bitch!" he spat.

Erik made a move, but Clare stopped him. "No- let's just leave."

She sounded petrified.

They ran, going through secret passages.

"Where are we going?" Clare asked weakly.

"Far away from him," was the reply.

They came to a set of steep stairs and ran up them, coming out onto the roof, breathless and tired. Tears were streaming freely down Clare's cheeks as she buried her face in his shirt, broken and weary.

He held her thin body close, feeling her shivering. It was fairly cold on the rooftop, and he realized that she was only wearing a thin, sleeveless under shift. He took off his black cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"Did you know that man?" he asked. He felt a shiver coarse through her body. "He's- he's my father," came the muffled reply.

Erik's eyes widened in horror. "Your father?"

She nodded, ashamed that he had seen.

He gently tilted her chin up to face him, studying her face closely. He could see a dark bruise forming beneath her eye, and there was blood on her lip.

"Does he always treat you like this?" he asked, running his hand over the side of her face gently.

She closed her eyes and shuddered, nodding. Opening them, she said, "I- I think he would have killed me tonight..... He was drunk..... it made him c-crazy. Thank god you were there, Erik or he might have....." she broke off.

He rested a comforting hand on her cold cheek. "I will always be there to protect you, Clare."

"Promise me," she whispered.

Their faces were so close, only inches apart.

"I promise," he answered, in his soft voice. His body was shaking, screaming at him to take advantage of their closeness and kiss her, but it wasn't the right time or place, he knew. She needed him there to comfort her now, to protect her. As she fell into his waiting arms, Clare, physically and emotionally exhausted, began to sob.


	10. The Point of No Return

Chapter 10- The Point of No Return

A short while later, Erik carried Clare down the passage they had come to her room. She had tried to protest him carrying her, but he wouldn't hear it. "You've been through hell tonight, Clare," he said. "Its a miracle you have any strength left at all." And with that, he had picked her up, cradling her against him. Clare was frightened that someone would see them, but it was late enough that everyone else had long since gone to sleep. Erik closed the door behind them, laying Clare down on the bed gently. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he sat down next to her and wiped the blood off her lips.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded.

"What happened?"

"He- he came in, asking for money. I didn't want to give it to him... I said no, and he... he hit me."

"Did he know you were here?" Erik asked.

"I don't know how he found out. I haven't seen him for a year or so." She swallowed. "What if he comes back?"

Erik took her hand. "I'll be here."

He stood up, and she knew he was going to return to his lair. Fear gripped her heart again. "Stay here for awhile," she begged him. "Don't leave me."

He knelt down again. "I can't stay all night... they might find me."

She nodded. "I know."

He sat on the edge of the bed, taking her hand again, and sang to her softly the song he had sung that night in the labyrinth.

_"Slowly, gently_

_Night unfurls its splendor_

_Grasp it, sense it_

_Tremulous and tender_

_Turn your face away _

_From the garish light of day _

_Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light_

_And listen to the music of the night....."_ Clare closed her eyes, senses calmed as she surrendered herself to Erik's voice.

"_Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams_

_Purge all thoughts of the life you knew before_

_Close your eyes let your spirit start to soar_

_And you'll live_

_As you've never lived before...." _He heard Clare sigh peacefully, passing off into sleep. He continued to sing, though more softly.

"_Softly, deftly_

_Music shall caress you_

_Hear it_

_Feel it _

_Secretly possess you_

_Open up your mind _

_Let your fantasies unwind_

_In this darkness that you know you cannot fight_

_The darkness of the music of the night_

_Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world_

_Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before_

_Let your soul take you where you long to be_

_Only then can you belong to me...."_ He stroked her hair gently, watching her smile as she slept.

"_Floating, fooling_

_Sweet intoxication_

_Touch me _

_Trust me_

_Savor each sensation_

_Let the dream begin_

_Let your darker side give in_

_To the power of the music that I write_

_The power of the music of the night....."_ He had involuntarily moved closer to her, leaning down, so close that he could detect the faint smell of lavender.

"_You alone can make my song take flight...._

_Help me make the music_

_Of the night...."_ He kissed her forehead timidly, afraid that she would wake up, but she didn't. She sighed, and turned over on her side. He stood up noiselessly, and, looking one last time on her face, the moonlight shining on it, giving it an angelic glow, he left the room, heading back down to his labyrinth.

Once there, he sat in his large, throne-like chair, thinking.

He couldn't stop it from happening, he thought. He had just promised to always protect her. Why couldn't he have just told her that he loved her? Because he did- he knew he did. He loved everything about her- she had saved him, in more ways than one. But would she still love him when he took off his mask?

He was unwilling to learn the answer to that question.

* * *

Clare woke the next morning to Christine knocking on her door.

She sat up groggily, body sore.

"Clare?"

"What?"

"It's me- Christine."

"Come in."

The door opened. Christine's smile fell though, when she saw Clare's face. "Clare- what happened?"

Clare's hand automatically rose to her eye, which felt swollen.

"What happened?" Christine repeated, horrified.

"Nothing."

Christine's eyes widened. "Erik didn't-"

"No! No, no.... he would never."

"Then tell me.... what happened to you?"

"Nothing, Christine. I'm fine... that's all that matters. But tell me," she said, trying not to wince as she shifted. Her stomach still hurt from where her father had kicked her. "How bad is it?"

Christine surveyed the damage. Aside from the bruise around her eye, there was a thin cut on her lip, and another bruise on her neck.

Clare didn't wait for an answer. She got out of bed shakily and looked at herself in a small mirror. Her face wasn't a pretty sight, but it wasn't as terrible as it could have been. She'd looked worse before, she knew.

"You should rest today," Christine said. "It's Sunday... we don't perform today."

Clare nodded. "If anyone asks, tell them I don't feel well."

Christine reluctantly agreed. "I wish you would tell me what happened."

Clare sighed, and looked away. "It was my father."

"Your father?" Christine repeated in shock.

Her friend nodded. "He found out I was here, and came after you all left the dressing room last night. Erik saved me."

A look of understanding passed over Christine's face, and she couldn't disguise the smile that played across her lips.

"What?" said Clare, seeing her look.

"Nothing, nothing. It's just a good thing Erik was there." She turned to leave. "Let me know if you need anything."

* * *

Later that day, someone else came to her door.

Clare, who had gotten dressed and was sitting on her bed, writing music, got up slowly to answer it.

She was surprised to discover that it was Martin.

"Hello Clare," he said. "Christine said you weren't feeling well... I came up to see if you were all right."

She smiled and opened the door a little wider. Like Christine, Martin's face turned to subdued shock when he saw her face. "What happened to you?" he asked concernedly.

"Nothing," said Clare defensively.

His eyes swept over her face again. "It's considerably more that nothing, Clare," he said sternly, but gently. "Tell me what happened."

"It's really nothing, Martin. I just... fell... last night after the show. It was dark when I was trying to come back up here."

She could tell he didn't believe her.

"Does this have anything to do with your disappearance yesterday?" he asked.

"No."

Martin sighed. "Are you telling me the truth?"

She nodded unconvincingly.

"Well," he said, putting his hands in his pockets. "I guess I can't force you to tell me. But at least promise me you will be careful... I would not want anything to happen to you."

"Thank you for your concern, Martin," Clare said.

He nodded, and said, "Well... I-er, should go. Good day."

She watched him walk away for a second before shutting the door, and returning to her music.

* * *

Meanwhile, Martin left the Opera House and went to see Raoul, at his home, several blocks away.

He rang the bell, and was escorted inside by a maid and lead to the door of Raoul's study.

"You may go in, Monsieur," said the maid.

"Thank you," replied Martin crisply, opening the door.

"Martin," Raoul nodded as his friend entered, still half-absorbed in a document on his desk.

"I just went to see Clare," said Martin.

"Yes- and?" said the Viscount.

"Something happened to her."

"What? Come now, Martin. Just tell me flat out."

"She looked beaten up. There were bruises on her face. I asked her what happened, but she wouldn't tell me. I think it might have had something to do with the phantom."

Raoul's attention was at once focused on Martin. "The phantom?" he asked, interested- the mad look of revenge in his eye.

Martin nodded. "I asked her if it had anything to do with her disappearance yesterday. She lied- I could see it."

Raoul slammed his fist down on the desktop. "The monster!" he said loudly. "If he isn't possessing Christine, he's beating up innocent young women." He thought for a second. "God only knows what he did to her," he said in a more subdued voice. He stood up and walked over to the large window. "Clare is like a sister to Christine," he said. "If anything happens to her...."

"The phantom has got to be stopped," said Martin heatedly.

"I know," said Raoul. "I've been thinking of little else since yesterday."

"You have a plan?"

Raoul nodded. "Here's what we do....."

* * *

Early the next morning, Clare found herself in the chapel, hoping to meet Erik there.

"Erik?" she called out softly.

"I'm here, my angel," he said. "Are you all right? After the other night, I mean?"

She smiled. "Yes. And thank you again, for saving me."

"Are you still performing in the show tonight?" he asked.

"Yes. A little makeup, and no one will be able to notice. Will you be there?"

"Like always. But I'll be backstage this time, to make sure that no one who's not supposed to be there gets in."

The unspoken words '_like your father_' hung in the air.

"Thank you, Erik," said Clare sincerely.

Erik shifted in the small passage as he asked Clare his next question. "Will you come down to see me tonight, after the performance?"

"Of course," she said.

Her answer pleased him, and though she couldn't see him, he smiled. "I must go, Clare," he said. "But I'll be watching tonight."

Clare heard him leave, and departed herself a few moments later.

That night, before Clare went on, she heard a voice from the shadows when there was no one else near.

_"Clare..."_ it whispered. Her head snapped up, reacting at the sound of the voice. She went over to it, in the shadows. She felt someone take her by the arm, and felt Erik's presence materialize beside her, as if from thin air. It was intoxicating- being this close to him, especially here, cloaked fully in the darkness. She was overtaken by that trancelike feeling that seemed to radiate from him. He held her by both her arms now, she was facing him in the dark, though she couldn't see his face.

"Ready?" he whispered to her.

He felt her nod. "Yes," she breathed back.

"Let the song control you," he said calmly, voice soothing. "Let it possess you.... let it guide you...." He stroked her cheek with the back of his gloved hand. "Sing for me, tonight, Clare..."

She closed her eyes, overpowered by the phantom's touch. "I will," she promised lightly.

For a brief second, Erik's lips touched hers in a soft, chaste kiss. Then, with the distinct swish of a cloak, he left her alone. When she finally shook herself from her semi-hypnotic state, she wasn't sure if the kiss had ever really happened or not.

* * *

When the opera started, Erik sat, watchful, from his favorite spot in the rafters, behind the curtains. He sat there often- at an angle where he could see the stage, but would be unnoticed by the sceneshifters. In his mind, he was going over what he had just done. His hands still shook slightly; his heart was still beating faster than usual. And his mind was reeling from the agony he was now suffering. The damnable, heart-splitting agony of wanting something you could never have... the irony of needing someone who could never need you..... It was enough to drive even the phantom mad.

Clare was on stage now- singing with the voice of an angel... no, ten angels, Erik thought. And there was his Christine, too, finally back at his opera house. But it was Clare that he watched; watched as the music overtook her, guided all her motions. She sang tonight with more passion and soul than she had ever done before in her life, raising her voice to her angel.

Toward the end of the first act, Erik spotted movement in his empty box. Someone was there... even though he had made it clear that it was never to be sold... except for Madame Giry, but she was standing there, backstage, watching the dancers. Erik frowned. This would mean another threatening note for the manager, Longere, he thought. But when he looked back, a few minutes later, the box was empty again. Odd, Erik thought, a feeling of wariness creeping through him.

After the show had ended, Erik stayed nearby, keeping watch from the rafters of the comings and goings of the cast and crew, watching the entrance to the room where Clare, Christine, and some of the other girls went to change. He saw Clare come out with Christine this time, and, with that assurance of her safety, he took off, heading down to his lair.

* * *

Clare and Christine walked down the carpeted halls of the opera house when they met Raoul and Martin.

"Another triumphant performance!" proclaimed Raoul, embracing his wife.

Out of the corner of her eye, Clare saw Martin slip something into his pocket.....

"Yes," he agreed. "Wonderful." He met Clare's eyes as he said this.

"What are you two doing in this part of the theatre?" Christine asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Looking for you, dearest," Raoul responded, kissing her on the cheek, making her blush.

"Christine," Clare cut in. "I'll see you tomorrow," she said, turning to continue down the hall.

"You're going to the dormitories? Alone?" Christine asked.

"I'll be fine, Christine," Clare said.

"Let me walk you back," Martin offered. "It's no trouble."

Christine nodded at her from behind Martin, and Clare knew it would be pointless to refuse. She took the arm Martin offered to her, and the couple began walking toward the dormitories.

"Everything went all right tonight, I trust," Martin asked. "No.... disturbances from certain spectral beings who claim to haunt the opera house?"

"No," said Clare. "I've told you before, I don't believe in ghosts."

"Ah, but they say that this opera ghost is a man."

Clare raised an eyebrow skeptically. Why was he doing this? Why was he letting on like he knew something? Clare was thankful when they reached her door.

"Thank you for escorting me back," she said.

"A pleasure, Mademoiselle Clare," he said, kissing her hand goodnight.

She smiled, though it was forced. She liked Martin fairly- he seemed a good man, though she thought he was too slick for his own good. There was something about him that made Clare feel that he wasn't fully honest with her.

She shrugged these feelings off, however, and prepared to go down to Erik. She pulled off the simple dress she was wearing, and replaced it with the fancy gown Erik had given her. She wanted to look nice for him. Her hands trembled slightly as she brushed her dark brownish-red locks, and fastened them back with a jeweled clip so that they still hung about her shoulders but stayed out of her eyes. When she was as satisfied as possible with her appearance, she grabbed her cloak and set off. She slipped through the dressing room door without incident, and walked over to the mirror. She noticed a fresh red rose lying on the table, tied in a black silk ribbon. It sat theatrically, having replaced the dead, brown one. Clare picked it up, holding it as though it were made of gold. She opened the mirror, breath catching in her throat as the cold, damp air hit her. She shivered, then began to walk.

Erik was waiting for her at the end of the passage with the boat. She stepped in- at once falling yet again under his trancelike spell. She tried to keep control of her mind this time, looking straight ahead as he rowed. As they neared the shore, he spoke to her softly. "Your performance was wonderful tonight."

Heart pounding at his praise, Clare responded. "I had hoped you would approve," she said as he handed her off the boat. They held each other's eyes for a second, then Erik let her go, moving in his mysterious way. "That was the best I've ever heard you sing," he said. "But I know you can do better still."

"Better?" she questioned. "What more can I do?"

He came very close, speaking slowly so that each syllable carried its own weight. "Give the music everything. Give it your mind, your body, and your soul. Give it everything, freely. Then, you will be perfect."

"How?" she asked.

"I cannot tell you how. That is something you must find for yourself." He moved over to the organ, and beckoned to her. "Come here," he said, almost inaudibly.

When she was beside him, he pulled out a piece of music from beneath a large stack of yellowing parchment. She watched as an odd shiver passed over his handsome face as he skimmed over it. "Yes," he whispered, more to himself than to her. Raising his voice so she could hear him, he said, "Sing this with me." He passed her the music.

"It was a duet I wrote... a few years ago." He positioned himself at the organ. "Keep in mind what I have told you. Give the music all of you."

Clare was studying the notes, afraid of making a mistake.

"Let go of your fear, Clare," said Erik, as though he could read her mind, fingers taking their place, beginning to play the first notes of the haunting duet. He drew in a breath, and began....

"_You have come here_

_In pursuit of your deepest urge_

_In pursuit of that wish which till now_

_Has been silent_

_Silent......_

_I have brought you_

_That our passions may fuse and merge_

_In your mind you've already succumb to me_

_Dropped all defenses;_

_Completely succumbed to me..._

_Now you are here with me_

_No second thoughts_

_You've decided....._

_Decided......." _He closed his eyes, as the intensity of his voice grew. Beside him, Clare stared at him, amazed at how easily he became lost in his song. And his voice was so flawlessly beautiful- it soared to her and wrapped itself around her; a voice of love and hate, lust and pain, passion and fear.

"_Past the point of no return_

_No backward glances_

_Our games of make-believe_

_Are at an end..._

_Past all thought of if or when_

_No use resisting_

_Abandon thought and let the dream descend......_

_What raging fire shall flood the soul_

_What rich desire unlocks its door_

_What sweet seduction lies_

_Before us..._

_Past the point of no return _

_The final threshold_

_What warm, unspoken secrets will we learn_

_Beyond the point of no return...."_

Clare's heart was in her mouth as her part came. Her voice was nothing compared to Erik's, but she heard his voice, in her head, telling her, commanding her to sing. She opened her mouth and surrendered to it.

"_You have brought me_

_To that moment when words run dry_

_To that moment when speech disappears into silence_

_Silence_

_I have come here_

_Hardly knowing the reason why_

_In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining_

_Defenseless and silent_

_Now I am here with you_

_No second thoughts_

_I've decided. . . ._

_Decided...."_ Something sparked inside of her. These weren't just words.... they were her emotions.... they became hers, they inhabited her mind.... they lived in her soul. She was one with them. Her voice gained a sudden strength that it had never experienced before.

"_Past the point of no return_

_No going back now_

_Our passioned play has now at last begun_

_Past all thought of right and wrong_

_One final question_

_How long should we to wait before we warn_

_When will the blood begin to race_

_The sleeping bud burst into bloom_

_When will the flames at last consume us...."_

Erik heard the change in her voice, the raw passion, and it drove him into the mad illusion of believing the words to be true. He joined her as their voices entwined sensuously, a haunting sound of memory and new experiences.

"_Past the point of no return_

_The final threshold_

_The bridge is crossed_

_So stand and watch it burn_

_We've passed the point of no return...."_

As she finished singing, Clare's eyes never left Erik. She watched the way his body swayed back and forth as he played, eyes closed, blind to anything else in the world. What she didn't know was that Erik was secretly fighting thoughts of her out of his mind. This was getting out of hand, he thought, putting more pressure on the keys. His deepest desires were emerging from the dark recesses of his mind- desires which he knew were dangerous. Clare was slowly overpowering him. She was breaking his resistance. Her voice- so pure, so seductive- was making his heart pound furiously. Asking her to come tonight had been a very bad idea.

He played the final notes of the song, heart rate still not normal.

Clare noticed his tenseness, the way his fists were clenched and his back was rigid.

"Erik?" He felt her hand on his shoulder. It suddenly became increasingly harder to breathe. He felt like he had when Christine had been there in his labyrinth with him.

"What's wrong?" she asked him.

"Nothing," he said, hoping she would move so he could breathe again.

She didn't.

Instead, she sat down next to him. He shifted uncomfortably.

"Erik," she pleaded gently. "Tell me. Something's on your mind."

She reached up and touched his unmasked cheek.

He flinched at her touch, but didn't pull away. He wanted to resist her- wanted to keep to his vow to live a life of solitude, but he was finding that increasingly harder to do. She was so innocent, he thought hopelessly. He didn't deserve her- not after all the wrong he had done in his lifetime.

But he was powerless- her eyes spoke to his heart; beckoning, pleading... inviting... Trembling, he lowered his head, joining their lips together for a brief second. Then he pulled back so suddenly that Clare wondered if she had done something wrong.

"No-" he said in a strangled voice. "I- we-...we can't."

He stood up, ready to run, but she stopped him.

"Stay."

That one word, that one simple request, broke him.

He reached out and pulled Clare as close to him as he dared- she moved automatically out of shock.

Their kisses were soft and sweet- Clare was surprised at how restrained Erik was, but underneath the surface, she sensed his longing, in the way he held her to him, possessively.

Slowly, her hands made their way up to his mask. She had to know... tonight.... she would find out who he really was. She was shaking, praying he wouldn't notice in time.

Caught up in what might have been the happiest moment of his life, Erik almost didn't realize what she was doing. But he felt her hands reaching for the mask- and a wave of fear ripped through him as he realized what she was doing. Stripping away his final secret, his final defense. He wouldn't let her. Not now... not at this moment- this perfect moment. He wouldn't let her see the monster now.

He stepped back sharply. "No!" he said firmly, making sure the mask was in place. "You promised me," he said, eyes full of betrayal and hurt. "You promised me that you would never take it off."

"Why?" she asked. "Why won't you let me? Please don't be afraid, Erik. Don't be afraid to show me." She kept her voice level, though she wanted to scream, to cry out that she didn't care what was behind it until he showed her.

"I can't," he said helplessly.

"You _can_," she said coolly. "You just _don't._"

"You don't understand-"

"Then let me. Help me understand, Erik."

"Don't you see?" he asked angrily. "You wouldn't understand! I know you.... you can't.... no one on this earth can!"

She backed away. "Erik," said Clare testily. She was at her wit's end. Time to tell it like it was. "Erik," she said again, trying to give herself the illusion of having confidence on her side. "I... I think I'm falling in love with you. But I need to know...." her voice failed her.

Erik stared at her in disbelief.

In her own mind, Clare felt like she'd just thrown herself off of a cliff. She felt like she was falling fast, down to the bottom of the very earth itself. Erik was looking at her, with an expression she couldn't decipher. She began to feel increasingly uncomfortable. Finally, nerves were nearly strangling her, and she turned, making for the boat.

He didn't stop her.

Clare's mind was blank the whole way back to her room. She could think of nothing but Erik's face- or his half-face, since she had yet to see it in its entirety. She shut the door to her room and locked it, throwing herself on the bed frustrated. The only question in her mind was why?

Why was Erik so afraid of her seeing him?

Why did he wear the mask to begin with?

And why, dammit, had she said anything?

It was this final question that made her want to bash her head against a stone wall. How could she have been so stupid? Now he would know.... things wouldn't be the same. But she had been desperate. Besides, she thought, she refused to love him if he was too ashamed to show her his face.

Another thought wormed its way to the center of her mind. What if Erik hadn't followed her because he didn't love her?

The thought was more than she could bear. Whether she liked it or not, she was falling deeper and deeper under the spell that Erik cast on her.... past the point of turning back. She curled up under the covers, still fully clothed, in the beautiful black dress, wishing she could hide herself from the world forever.

* * *

Erik watched as the boat rowed away. Clare was moving quickly, as if eager to be away from him. As he watched her depart, he felt like something was being ripped out of him- the same feeling he had gotten when Christine had left him. And as if history was doomed to repeat itself, he stood there on the shore, watching as she slowly faded away, doing nothing to stop her. _Idiot!_ His mind screamed. _Do something_! But there was a delayed reaction between his brain and his mouth, for he said nothing.

She disappeared into the low fog that hung over the shallow lake.

He threw himself into the chair, feeling stupid. Why? He thought. Why had he done what he had? Why was it so hard for him to just let her see? And why, dammit, hadn't he said anything when she had told him....

_She told me she was in love with me,_ he thought, heart leaping pleasantly with a strange joy. The words, though foreign to him, brought him comfort. But the burning question still remained: Would Clare still love him after seeing his face? It was not the first time he pondered this, nor would it be the last. Again, he took his mask off to look at his own reflection like he had done a few weeks before. How could anyone bear to look at it? The open air felt strange on his face, and self-consciously, he put the mask back on.

He let out a deep, deciding breath. He couldn't hide forever. Erik made up his mind, set his precedent. If she asked again, he would show her. He would prepare himself for her words of horror- they wouldn't affect him.

But when he thought of Clare not being there; he had become accustomed to seeing her, to having her near him, having her care. Looking down, he saw the rose he had left for her. She had been holding it when she had come down- she must have dropped it. He picked it up, fingering the soft petals idly as he sang to himself,

"_Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime_

_Leave me, save me from my solitude..._

_Say you'll want me with you here,_

_Beside you..._

_Anywhere you go, let me go too..._

_Love me.... that's all I ask of you. . ."_

The next morning when Clare awoke, she found the same red rose, slipped under her door. . . .

* * *

A/N: oooh- this chapter gave me chills to write. Hope you all liked it as much as I do!!! Review!!! 


	11. Encounter With a Punjab Lasso

A/N: Okay- here's just to thank those who reviewed: **POTC Girl**- my first official reviewer!!! Luv and thanx to u!! **Fox of the Nova**- great to have u onboard… keep reading!!!!! **Raveene** (aka ..:rav:..), **Phantom Ange, Countess Alana, Sparrow's Pearl** (hee hee- jack sparrow rocks!!) **Elvenstar5**- thanks to all you guys!!!

And…** tasha**- hey- I loved getting ur reviews!! Thanks for your encouragement!!

And lastly… Litagirl…. I kno ur reading this, and if u don't review soon….. the phantom will not be happy! Muahahahahah (how I love typing that!)

So to all, read, review, and enjoy!!)

Chapter 11- An Encounter With a Punjab Lasso

That same evening, Martin and Raoul had met again at Raoul's penthouse. Over coffee, they discussed what had just happened- or rather, what had not just happened.

"You went to the box during the performance?" Raoul asked.

"We've been over this before, Raoul. He wasn't there," said Martin, frustrated.

"That can't be," the Viscount said. "Christine said he watches every show from that box. He should have been there..."

"But he wasn't," said Martin pointedly.

"You don't think he suspected anything, do you?" Raoul questioned.

"Why would he?"

"I don't know." Raoul looked troubled. "The phantom has a way of knowing..."

"What do we do now?"

"I'm not sure."

Martin stirred his coffee. "I'm going after him, Raoul. He came after Clare once... that won't happen again." He inhaled. "I want you to tell me how I can reach his lair."

Raoul cracked his knuckles, trying to remember every detail about the entrance to the phantom's lair. God protect me if Erik finds out, he prayed silently, before speaking. "There's a mirror. In one of the dressing rooms. It opens to reveal a secret tunnel which leads down into the cellars of the opera house. There's a small lake- it's fairly shallow all the way through. But you must be wary. There are traps everywhere, and remember... at all costs- keep your hand to the level of your eye. Never take it down, and always be ready. The phantom strikes without warning."

"I'll be ready," said Martin savagely. He stood up and bid Raoul good evening, leaving him to his thoughts.

He stared off into space, trying, in his mind, to justify his actions. There was no doubt in his mind that the phantom was dangerous- he had killed before, after all. Who was to say that he wouldn't kill again? Raoul wondered what Christine would do if she found out about his plan. He knew- though it was a painful truth for him to accept- that his wife still harbored some feelings for Erik. There were times when he would catch her, singing the phantom's song or gazing idly off into space, with the dreamy look she often got when thinking of him.

But while she still cared for him, Raoul had no compassion for the monster. He was a hideous, murdering creature as far as Raoul was concerned. The fiend had almost killed him, and had almost taken Christine as well. For those offenses, Raoul refused to forgive or forget. Ever since that night, he had made a silent promise that one day, he would be the one to kill Erik. The need for vengance flowed through his veins like blood and water. Even after spending a year away in England during their engagement, the Viscount's hate was still as fresh and raw as the night of the encounter.

Erik would die, but not before paying for all the wrong he had done.

Christine's presence in the doorway diverted his thoughts. He smiled at her, concentration returning to the present, and he beckoned her over. She drifted in and wrapped her arms around him. "You look troubled," she said.

Raoul sighed. "I've been thinking," he said passively, not wanting to say too much.

"About what?" Christine asked.

He hesitated. "Do you know what happened to Clare that day? Martin said she looked beaten up...."

"Oh," said Christine, a dark look passing over her face. "That was nothing. She told me not to worry about it."

"Well," he said. "It's just that I know she's like a sister to you, and I'm just keeping her best interests in mind. Maybe she should come live here..."

"Raoul," his wife said, "She's perfectly fine at the opera house. I think she's happy, for once in her life."

"I just don't want anything to happen to her like..." he trailed off; both of them knew what he was trying to say.

"Don't worry about her, Raoul. Erik would never do anything to harm her."

_Yes, love,_ thought Raoul, holding her tighter. _Soon Erik will never harm anyone else again.

* * *

_

Clare was quieter than usual the next day at rehearsal, not speaking to anyone and singing as though she were on her deathbed.

"What's the matter, Clare?" Meg Giry asked her backstage later that night, as they prepared for yet another performance.

Clare shook her head deftly, lacing up her satin slippers she wore on stage.

"Did you hear about the masquerade?"

"What?" Clare asked halfheartedly.

"The masquerade ball! The new owner's putting one on in a week, to celebrate the re-opening of the opera or something. But the ball will be such fun, Clare! Surely you'll get excited about that!"

"I suppose so," said Clare mildly.

"Clare, tell me," said Meg, sitting down beside her. "What's troubling you?"

"Something happened last night, Meg," she said, letting out a shallow sigh. "Something I can't really explain. I don't know if it was good or bad... I don't know what's going to happen next."

Christine had come in the room- fully costumed, having heard all of what Clare had just said.

"Meg!" Madame Giry's voice came drifting in from outside the dressing room. "Come here a minute!"

Meg left quickly, leaving Christine and Clare alone.

Christine took Meg's place, seated next to her friend. "What happened?"

Clare let out another deep breath. "Oh, Christine- I'm so confused!" she said. "It's Erik.... it's always Erik nowadays...."

"What happened?" Christine coaxed.

"I- I tried to take off his mask last night. We had been singing together... singing the most beautiful song I've ever heard... and when it ended, I wanted to know... I just wanted to see him, but he stopped me, and then I...." She held her head in her hands. "I told him I loved him."

"And what did he say?" Christine asked, secretly excited.

"He... he didn't say anything. He just stared at me, and I left." Her voice gained another level of emotion. "I was so afraid in that moment.... that he didn't love me, and that was why he didn't follow me. Christine- what am I supposed to do?"

"Sing for him tonight," Christine said. "Go out and perform the way he has taught you. I know him, Clare. He will return to you."

The voice of a stagehand suddenly sounded. "Mademoiselle Darnier! Madame Daae! You're on in five minutes!"

Christine squeezed her hand. "Don't think about what happened between you two. Just think of your feelings for him. He will be able to hear it in your song; reach out to him."

Clare nodded.

* * *

That evening, Box Five once again had a patron- a tall figure clad in black. Throughout the show, he would sit, pensively thinking, stirred only by the sound of the voice of a small, slight girl on the stage. The girl who had said she had loved him the previous night. The girl whom he loved in return, but was afraid to let her see his face. What a tangled web it was, Erik thought, and yet so simple. Merely a matter of a few unspoken words that divided them. As the final curtain fell and the lights began to come on, Erik vanished from his box, before anyone had a chance to glimpse him.

A short while later, Clare found herself making her way up to the roof, taking the stairway that she and Erik had used to escape her father a few nights ago. She pushed open the door and stepped out onto the roof, walking over the the ledge. She took in a deep breath of fresh air, looking down on the city. On the street below, many of the opera-goers were leaving, hailing taxis, climbing into carriages. The night air was fairly warm; most of the late-winter chill had long since passed. She wrapped her arms around herself, thinking of all the things she would do differently if she could rewind time to that night, after the encounter with her father.

Erik watched her, from atop one of the stone figures that was carved as decoration on the top of the opera house. It was time, he thought. Time to do what he had to do, time to reveal everything... He climbed down noiselessly, landing in the shadows, heart pounding.

"Clare?"

Clare jumped about a foot in the air when she heard the voice.

Erik stepped out of the shadows, in his evening clothes, still masked and looking handsome.

When she saw him, Clare tensed. She didn't speak, but her eyes were sad.

Erik felt his breath catching in his throat. He could predict the next few moments, and thought about forgetting his plan. But he saw tears forming in Clare's eyes. He hated it when she cried. He had to tell her, now, before he lost all courage he possessed.

"Clare I love you," he said, faster than he could think about the consequences.

Her tears threatened to spill over, and he thought, desperately, that he had been the one who had put them there. "Please don't cry, angel," he begged her.

Then, Clare- his angel- was right there, in front of him. With all the strength she possessed, she kissed him, until both of them were breathless. They separated, memory of the kiss sweet but painful.

"You really do?" Clare whispered the question.

He nodded.

There was a moment of hesitation, but then Clare raised her hands cautiously to his mask. Erik flinched involuntarily, and Clare stopped for a moment, but when he didn't pull away, she reached again for the black tie that held it in place. Erik closed his eyes in despair, awaiting the scream that he knew would soon come. The mask slid off his face slowly. He felt Clare pull back a little- he kept his eyes closed; he couldn't stand to see her horror. Then, Erik felt something he had never felt before. Her hand, stroking his pale, deformed cheek.

Clare wasn't horrified by his face. It did look terrible, and there was a moment of initial fear that she experienced when she first looked at it, but she didn't scream. The left side of his face was pure and unblemished, but the skin on the opposite side was twisted and contorted. There were dark scars under his eye, and the rest of the flesh looked rough and uneven. But Clare wasn't afraid- in the dim light, she might have mistaken him for a normal person.

"Erik," she commanded. "Look at me."

His eyes opened slowly, beautiful dark eyes, the same on both sides. This was no monster before her.

"This, Clare," he said shakily, "Is why I wear a mask. It's horrible, isn't it? I was born this way. From the moment I took my first breath, I was a monster," He turned away, and his shoulders began to shake as he tried to hold in his tears. "I used to ask myself... what I had done to deserve this affliction...." His tone changed. "Did I ever tell you that you saved my life?"

"When?"

"Before you even knew me," he responded deftly, beginning to regret bringing this up. Why make her believe he was suicidal, on top of being deformed?

"I don't understand."

He faced her again. "That day in the chapel. The first day you heard my voice. I was ready to kill myself- I had the knife... in my hand. I was going to do it, when I heard you sing... And I... I thought you were her, back again. I couldn't do it..." A solitary sob broke free from the inside of his chest.

"Oh, Erik," she whispered, holding him close. "Swear to me that you'll never try to hurt yourself again. Please."

He nodded.

"I love you, Erik," she said tenderly, cheek resting on his shoulder. "Don't ever leave me..."

The words echoed in his head, filling him with such an indescribable joy, he wondered if he was dreaming. They held each other for several more moments- neither wanting to separate, until Clare said, "We should get back."  
Erik nodded, and slipped his mask back on.

They made their way down to Clare's room, through a few handy secret passages. Erik kissed her goodnight, not wanting to leave, but knowing that he couldn't stay. He entered the secret tunnel behind the mirror, descending yet again into his dark world. He was halfway through the passage when he felt a wave of fresh air hit him. He froze, and a second later, he heard a stumbling noise, coming from somewhere behind him. He became immediately belligerent, pulling from the inside of his coat a Punjab lasso- his preferred weapon. He ducked into one of the shallow alcoves along the passage and waited. Deliberately quieted footsteps were coming down the passage. Erik cocked his head, listening, calculating the distance between himself and the intruder. Then, he moved.

He jumped out behind the figure, lasso slipping around the intruder's neck. Erik pinned whoever it was up against the wall. He heard a low grunt of pain, and knew immediately that it was a man.

"Who are you?" he growled.

"Let me go!" came a man's voice, trying to sound more confident than he really was.

Erik laughed coldly. "I could kill you right now," he said, in his low, silky voice. "Give me a reason why I should spare you."

"I- I won't follow you again," the man promised lamely. "I swear."

"No," said Erik. "You won't." He tightened the noose even tighter, hearing the man let out a strangled noise. He contemplated killing him, but then for some reason found himself wondering what Clare would think of him. She would be ashamed of what he was about to do. Erik loosened the rope. "Leave now," he said, still holding the man to the wall. "Tell no one of this passage. And should you follow me again, Monsieur, I swear to you, it will be the last thing you ever do...." he added scathingly. He released the man, shoving him toward the entrance to the tunnel. "Walk," he said flatly. "And do not try to turn back- I will be behind you."

The man started off, afraid to look behind him. Erik knew the intruder wouldn't follow him again, and when the man's footsteps died off, he started off in the other direction.

At the other end of the passage, the man scrambled out from behind the mirror, heart pounding and adrenaline racing. So he had found the phantom's lair, he thought satisfactorily.

And next time, he thought, he would be ready.

Okay… guesses on who the mysterious follower is…? (its really kinda obvious!!) REVIEW, and I promise the next chappie will be up soon! Luv to all!


	12. A Masquerade and a Massacre

(A/N: sorry if the first part of this chapter sucks. I had to write it quickly, cause i wanted to get to the actual events of the ball. These 1st couple paragraphs are killing for time 

And to my reviewers!!!! **Litagirl**- I CRACKED UP when i read ur review!! it was really great....! and yes, i do believe cupcakes could be considered as muffins! hope u love this chapter.... and write me another long review!!!!!

**tasha-** thanks so much for your reviews. Glad you're 'hooked'! makes me feel like a good author!! :) By the way, i agree with you that the kiss could have been a little more detailed... i was reading back on it, and i realized that i had written that scene kinda fast. but thanx 4 pointing it out! KEEP READING & REVIEWING

**Raveene**- thanks a million!!!

And my new reviewers: **Caroline** and **Maridelpiero** (i think i spelled that right!) thanks 4 your encouragement!

everyone else who reads& reviews, thanks. ENJOY!!!

Chapter 12- A Masquerade and a Massacre

Over the next few days, the members of the Opera Company saw less and less of Clare. No one passed her in the halls; she arrived promptly for rehearsals and performances, but no one saw her afterward. She now spent a majority of her time in the dungeons with Erik. He was still training her, and the lessons were becoming more intense. He had a way of making her challenge herself every time they sang together, always wanting to do better than the last time, trying to make Erik proud of her.

It was toward the end of the week when Clare brought up the subject of the ball. They had just finished their singing lesson for the day, and Erik was playing several different keys, letting his creative muse take flight. He always seemed to be more inspired to write whenever Clare was with him. Her presence alone fueled the fires of his mind, helped him to feel the music, and unravel his thoughts.

"Erik?"

"Mmmm?" he asked, half-listening.

Clare wasn't sure how to go about asking him. "You know there's going to be a masquerade ball in three days?"

He nodded, eyes closed as he played a mournful sounding song.

"Will you be there?"

The music ceased. "Maybe."

He was remembering back to the last masquerade ball.... and what had happened. The day he had discovered Christine's "secret" engagement to the Vicomte de Chagny.

Clare accepted his answer reluctantly- she had wanted to know for sure, but thought it best to leave it there.

She sat down next to him and rested her head on his shoulder as he continued to play.

Erik started at the sudden weight on his shoulder; even now, human contact still felt new and strange to him. But with Clare there beside him, everything felt, at last, as though it were finally right.

* * *

Two days before the ball, Christine came to Clare's door.

Her friend opened it, looking exhausted, even though it was already midmorning. The cast had been given the day off and by the looks of things Clare had needed one. Her late nights spent in the dark, cold cellars with Erik had made her paler than usual, and dark patches were forming under her eyes.

"Are you all right, Clare?" was Christine's first question.

"Yes... just tired. Did you want something?"

"Well... I wanted to ask you if you wanted to come with me today. We need to find costumes for the ball... I was planning to shop today, but if you are too tired-"

"No, no- I'd love to go," said Clare.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Give me a minute..." She changed as quickly as she could, trying to make herself presentable.

Then, the two women set off, leaving the opera house and heading into the city. Clare's eyes took longer than usual to adjust to the sunlight- it had been days since she had been outside in the daytime.

They went to several shops, before Clare finally found the perfect dress.....

* * *

"Oh, Clare, you look stunning," said Christine, affixing the last of the curls in place with a diamond clip. The two girls were in Christine's dressing room, preparing to go down to the ball. Clare looked at her slender form in the large mirror. Her hair was styled so that half of her curls were piled on top of her head, while the rest hung around her shoulders, and flowed down her back. The dress was a deep, crimson red, and sleeveless with a plunging V-neck- the bodice fit like a second skin, and the skirt flounced out considerably. Around her neck was a simple diamond pendant, which she had borrowed from Christine.

"So do you," said Clare.

Christine's gown was white and scoop-necked, very feminine and elegant.

Clare picked up the black mask that sat on the table. It was simple- adorned only with tiny black beads, which were embroidered on the sides. Christine fastened the mask over Clare's face, and Clare did the same with hers.

"Will Erik be there tonight?" Christine questioned.

"I don't know," Clare answered truthfully. She had seen him only briefly since the last time she had been down in the labyrinth. I hope so, she added mentally.

The two women ventured down to the ball together. When they arrived, Raoul came over at once to whisk his wife out onto the dance floor. Clare watched them with a slight feeling of envy. They looked so perfect, in each other's arms, laughing and dancing together.

As her eyes moved around the crowd, her heart began to flutter nervously. Would Erik be there, she wondered. Would he come? He should, she thought- the one time when he could blend in with other human beings- how could he pass it up? But then, she thought, how would he recognize her? Would she know him if he were to walk past, or would she take him for another ordinary man?

Suddenly, she felt someone appear at her arm, and a smooth, silky voice whispered in her ear, "Good evening, _angel._"

She turned her head slowly, and saw him. One look into his dark eyes, and she knew. He had come.

"You're here," she said, mildly surprised.

"For now," came the reply.

"How did you find me?" she asked.

"I can always find you, Clare," he said mysteriously.

She shivered happily. "Dance with me, Erik," she said impulsively.

He didn't respond, but instead he put his hands around her waist and swept her off, leading her to the music of the waltz. Clare had never been much of a dancer; but with Erik leading, her feet seemed to move automatically. One of his hands rested firmly on the small of her back, guiding her, and the other held her hand in his black-gloved one. He was wearing a black evening suit again, but his mask was a full one which covered the top half of his face, cutting off just above his lips.

From across the floor, Christine caught sight of them, dancing. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw them- they were looking into each other's eyes, oblivious, it seemed, to all other things.

"Raoul," she whispered. "Look over there."

Her husband glanced over. "Who is that?" he asked.

"Do you not know?"

"Who is it, Christine?"

"Why, it's Erik, of course!"

The Vicomte's eyes widened. "Erik!" he hissed angrily. "What's he doing here... and with Clare?"

"Don't they look perfect?"

"Perfect!" Raoul snorted. "That monster deserves to be locked up!"

Christine frowned. "Raoul!"

"I'm sorry, Christine," he said. "I know you don't think so. But I can't stop thinking about what he did to us- the pain he caused."

"I think he's happy now, Raoul. I think he and Clare are good for each other."

Raoul didn't argue. As the waltz ended, he escorted Christine off the dance floor. She went off immediately to speak with some old acquaintances, while he went out in search of Martin. He found his friend standing, glass of champagne in hand.

"Have you seen Clare?" Martin wanted to know.

"Yes," said Raoul. "As a matter of fact, I have. She's over there." He pointed to where Clare and Erik were dancing.

"Who's that?" Martin asked, hint of jealousy in his voice.

"I'll tell you," said Raoul. "But you must promise not to do anything foolish."

"Tell me who it is."

"It's the phantom of the opera," said Raoul lowly.

Martin drew in a sharp breath of shock. "We have to get him away from Clare..." he began.

"Christine tells me that she is in love with him."

Martin couldn't stop his jaw from dropping open in shock. "In- in love?" he sputtered. "How can she be?"

Raoul shrugged. "Whether willingly or not, I don't know."

Martin's gaze as the couple passed them was icy.

* * *

Meanwhile, Clare was lost in Erik's eyes, and he in hers, both overtaken by some powerful force. In the back of her mind, Clare heard the song begin to end, and realized that she was slightly tired, from lack of sleep for the past few nights. Erik lead her off the floor and got her a drink. They stepped off to the side, so as not to stand out.

Martin planned his move quickly. When the phantom had turned his back, he took the opportunity to take Clare's hand and lead her away onto the dance floor once again.

"Good evening, Clare," he said smoothly.

"Martin," she said, slightly startled at his sudden hold on her. She struggled to keep up with him as he moved her around the floor. The dance was not one she was familiar with.

"Who were you dancing with earlier?" he asked, voice full of skepticism.

Clare's heart sank. Did he know something? She wondered. "No one," she lied.

"Really?" Martin raised an eyebrow, though she couldn't see; it was hidden by the black mask he wore. "You seemed to be pretty... attached to him," he said.

Her eyes sharpened. "Let me go," she said.

"Very well."

No sooner had he released her, she felt another pair of arms take her back. She turned, and sighed in relief. "Erik," she breathed. "Thank god."

"Who was that?" he growled.

"No one. Just an acquaintance."

"Come," he said.

"Where are we going?"

"Just follow me."

He led her out of the ballroom, into a small, deserted parlor room.

"What...?" Clare asked, confused.

"There were too many people in there," he said as an excuse. "Too easy to lose you." He undid her mask and slid it off her face. Holding her chin firmly, he leaned down and joined their lips together.

Neither of them knew that they were being watched. But Martin had followed the couple out of the ballroom, and was now standing in the shadows, trembling with anger as he watched Clare wrap her arms around the phantom. He heard her sigh happily as Erik deepened the kiss, then, feeling sickened, he turned away and left.

Fury encompassed him as he set off in search of a strong drink. Did Clare have no sense? Had all reason abandoned her? She must be under a spell, he thought. Yes, that was it. The phantom had bewitched her; she didn't know what she was doing. But in his mind, he knew that that wasn't the truth. And the truth angered him. Secretly, he wanted Clare for himself. He had grown fond of her over the past several weeks, she was beautiful and sweet and innocent. He deserved her more than that darkness-loving murderer did.

Erik pulled away from Clare, hand resting on her shoulder, fingers entwining themselves in her hair gently. "I have to leave tonight," he said.

"What do you mean?" Clare asked, blue eyes looking anxious.

"I'll be gone a few days- I must see an old friend of mine who has just returned to France."

"I see," said Clare.

"I won't be gone long, I promise. Just a few days."

He touched her cheek lightly. "I promise," he repeated.

"Just be careful, Erik. What if someone sees you?"

"Don't worry," he said soothingly. "I'll be traveling by night- no one will see me." He gave her back her mask, and she put it on. He took her by the hand and led her back to the ball.

Martin saw them re-enter the ballroom a few minutes later, joining the other couples in the slow dance that the band was now playing.

They stayed a while longer, then Erik whispered in her ear, "Time for me to return."

He felt her shoulders slump in disappointment. "Must you?"

He nodded slowly.

"I guess I might as well leave also," she said.

"I'll walk you to your room," he offered, taking her by the arm. When they reached Clare's door, she turned to him, leaning against the doorframe, smiling a small, half-smile.

Erik suddenly realized, as he looked at her, how stunning she looked that night. How the dress she wore perfectly accentuated her feminine form, and how her eyes seemed to sparkle like the diamond pendant she wore. He suddenly found himself staring at her.

"What?" she asked.

"Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?" he asked in a soft voice.

Her cheeks took on an involuntary pink tinge. "You think so?" she said passively.

"I do."

She rose on tiptoe to kiss him. He kissed her back hungrily- she pulled him into her room before he could stop her. There was laughter in his eyes as he pulled away.

"A little impulsive, are we?"

"I told you I didn't want you to leave."

"So you're trying to talk me out of going?"

"Perhaps."

"You'll have to be more convincing...."

He toyed with her affections for a few more moments, savoring each moment of her closeness, until he feared that if he didn't leave now, he would never be able to.

"Clare-"

"Don't leave, Erik."

"I have to, my love," he whispered gently. He kissed her forehead. "I'll be back soon, I swear it," he said, his last words to her before he walked out the door and left her standing alone.

Four days passed.

They went slowly for Clare, with no Erik to look forward to seeing at night when he would come take her down to his labyrinth. On the fifth night, Clare was restless. She decided to go down to Erik's home- even if he wasn't there, she still felt closer to him when she was in the dungeons of the opera house. She opened the mirror in the dressing room, and immediately, she was hit with a cold blast of air. She shivered. How could Erik stand to live down here, in the cold? She knew he probably wouldn't like her coming down when he wasn't there, but she didn't care. She missed him- she felt like something was missing.

She found the boat at the end of the passageway, and began to row carefully to the other side. Stepping off, she used the candle she had brought with her to light some of the other candles around the organ. The warm, yellow-orange light spread throughout the room, making it seem more friendly. She curled up in the large, throne like chair, when she thought she heard something from one of the back rooms.

"Erik?" she called out softly.

There was no answer, but she heard a low groan of pain coming from the other room. She got to her feet at once, following the sound to the room that she had often stayed in. She pushed open the door- and froze.

Lying on the bed, limbs askew, was Erik- deathly pale and stained with dried blood from wounds on his chest.

* * *

A/N: dun dun dun!!! what in the world happened to erik???? review!! 


	13. Wounds

Chapter 13- Wounds

"Erik!" she cried out, running to his side. She placed a hand on his forehead. His skin was frozen to the touch. "Erik," she called again, knowing that he was probably near death. "Erik- please wake up."

He moaned again, breathing shallow. His body twitched, shuddered, and then, he opened his eyes.

"Clare," he whispered through parched lips. "What are you-"

"Never mind-" she put a finger to his lips to silence him. "What happened to you? How long have you been like this?"

He shook his head. "I- I don't know," he whispered weakly.

"What's the last thing you remember?" she asked.

"I remember.... coming back from your room, the night of the ball...."

"My god," Clare breathed. "That was days ago." She rested her hand on the bare side of his face, and he closed his eyes peacefully at her touch.

"Clare..." he said hoarsely, but his voice failed.

"Shhh," she said soothingly. "I'll be right back." She leaned over him, careful not to touch his wounds and kissed him almost shyly. "Please hold on, Erik," she whispered. "I need you."

He smiled as she left the room. _She needed him_. No one had ever said that to him before.

When she returned, she propped Erik up in a seated position on the pillows and opened his shirt to examine his wounds. It was obvious that he had been stabbed several times- there were slashes across his abdomen and upper chest; Clare gasped as she saw the scars already beginning to form. She began to clean them, praying to god that they weren't infected. Erik's eyes were closed, he was in a state of semi-consciousness.

"Erik," Clare said, trying to rouse him. He frightened her when he was like this- unresponsive and silent. It made her think that he was slipping closer to death.

He opened his eyes again.

"Tell me what happened," she said. "Whatever you can remember."

The eyes closed in thought, but opened as he began to speak. "The memory's very faint," he began slowly. "After I left your room.... I came down here, to pack... I heard something behind me, so I turned around and someone..... I don't know who.... I couldn't see his face.... jumped out and attacked me. I- I must have passed out then.... I woke up sometime later, and all I can remember after that is dragging myself to the bed, and then.... darkness overtook me...." He coughed suddenly, face contorting in pain from the effort. Clare's heart broke seeing him like this, so weak and helpless. When the coughing fit passed, she began cleaning the cuts again. Erik hissed sharply in pain as one of the scars opened again and the blood began to flow.

"Sorry," Clare apologized, trying to stop the blood flow.

"Don't be," he said. "I've lived through worse than this."

"You've lost so much blood already," said Clare. "It's amazing you're still alive."

Erik sighed, looking at her sleepily. "You know," he said. "Up until a few weeks ago, I wasn't afraid to die. Now," he paused, drawing in a breath. "I'm terrified of it."

"Why?" she asked.

"I'm terrified of not being with you," he said, his last words before passing into sleep. With tears in her eyes, Clare reached up and removed his mask when she was sure he was asleep- it would be uncomfortable to sleep in it, she knew. She set it on the side table gently, and looked at his face that she so seldom saw. She ran her hand down the rough skin affectionately. It was horrid, and made her pity him, but she knew that one couldn't judge Erik by flesh alone. His soul made up a thousand times for what he lacked in physical appearance.

When Clare finished cleaning and bandaging his wounds to the best of her ability, she found herself tired. Consulting a pocket watch she had taken to bringing with her when she came down to the labyrinth, she saw that it was after two in the morning. She sank down into a chair beside Erik's bed, and fell asleep in moments, drifting off into a strange dream. In the dream she was walking down a dark tunnel that seemed to echo with phantom voices and memory. She walked toward a light... faint at first but growing brighter with each passing moment. The light slowly surrounded her, blinding her, making her lose consciousness. Someone was calling her: _Clare, Clare..._

"Clare!"

Her eyes snapped open, and she started. There was a sudden sensation of falling as she slid off the chair and landed on the floor.

She looked up to see Erik's smiling eyes gazing down at her. He had put his mask back on; the scarred half of his face was hidden again. "Are you all right?" he asked, laughing though it hurt him.

She nodded dazedly, and stood up, checking the watch as she did so. Four thirty am. She had slept for two hours.

"How long have you been awake?" she asked him.

"Only a moment or so," he said. "You looked uncomfortable, sitting there," he commented.

Clare suddenly felt pain in her back as she straightened up. "A little," she agreed. "I wanted to go for a doctor, but I was too afraid that if I went, you'd wake up and think I had left you."

Erik moved over in the bed, and motioned for her to sit down, which she did. She was suddenly overcome with nerves; they fluttered up from her stomach and into her throat.

"You look tired," he said.

She forced a laugh. "That's an understatement," she said.

He laughed also, but then his look softened into astute seriousness. "Lay back," he beckoned softly. She responded to his command, curling up in the crook of his arm. He felt her body against him- tense and trembling. "Relax," he whispered, stroking her hair idly. She obeyed, and let all anxiety leave her. In Erik's arms, she felt secure and safe. Clare's eyes drifted to where his shirt was open, exposing the bandages that hid his wounds. "That looks awful," she said.

"It's nothing," he responded.

She turned her face up to meet his eyes. "You have so much pain in your life already, Erik," she said sadly. "I just wish I could take some of it away."

"You already have," he said silkily.

Clare sighed, and let her hand move up to touch his bare skin. She felt the hard outlines of his muscles tense up under her feather-light touch.

"I wish I could do more." She swallowed. "You're lucky that knife didn't pierce your heart," she said, moving her hand to feel its steady rhythm.

He covered her hand with his, meeting her eyes with an unparalleled intensity.

"Erik, I-" she began feebly.

He cut her off. "Shhh. Rest now, my angel."

Sleep overpowered Clare, and the world slowly dissolved into darkness.

* * *

She woke again, nearly three hours later, still nestled in Erik's arms. He was awake, staring off into space. She smiled.

He felt her weight shift, and looked down into her eyes. "Morning," he said.

"Is it?" she moaned miserably. "I've got to get up there... rehearsals..."

The presence of his lips on hers put a stop to her rambling. "I need to ask you something, Clare," he said, lifting his head a few inches.

Clare rolled over onto her stomach and looked at him. "What?"

He sighed, unsure where to begin. "Do you love me?" he asked.

Clare frowned. "You know I do," she said. _Where was he going with this?_

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure- Erik, why are you asking me this?"

"I'm asking you because I don't know what to do next," he said.

"I don't understand." She looked troubled.

"Clare," he sighed. "We can't go on like this."

"Like what?" She was almost afraid to hear what he had to say.

"Like this. You only seeing me at night, down here."

"It doesn't bother me-"

"But Clare, don't you understand? I can never go out there, into the world...." He took a breath and started again. "A few weeks ago, I watched you and Christine walk out of the opera house, her with Raoul and you with some other fellow..."

"Martin," Clare filled in the blank.

"Yes. And all I could think about was how we'll never be able to do that. Don't you see? It's more than I have the right to ask of you to have you stay down here with me. I mean, look at you. Ever since you started coming down here, you've changed... you're paler than ever, you always look tired..." He took her hand. It was cold and bony- more skeletal than human. "The darkness is overtaking you, Clare. You don't belong down here."

Clare's eyes filled with sudden tears. "I belong with you, Erik," she protested. "I don't care about the darkness..."

"You say you don't. But you will. Some day, you'll look around... you'll feel nothing but cold and solitude.... and you'll resent it. You'll hate it, and you'll hate me and then you'll leave me all alone again. I know."

"No," she said desperately. "Erik- I swear I won't. Please don't push me away."

"Clare-"

"We- we could go away. Somewhere far away from here, where no one would have to find out about you, we could be happy...."

"I can't leave this place, Clare. It's my sanctuary, my only home."

"I'm not going to stop coming here," Clare said defiantly. "Do you hear me? You may think that the only solution is to push me farther and farther away from you, but you're wrong. What more can I do to convince you?" She asked bitterly, burying her face in the pillows, letting the silent tears flow.

Erik's heart plummeted when he saw that he had made her cry. He hadn't intended for the conversation to go this way; he just wanted to warn Clare of the ramifications of her loving him.

Clare felt his hand come to rest on her back, between her shoulder blades. His touch wrenched her sobs from inside of her. Her body convulsed as she tried to hold it in.

"Oh, Clare," Erik whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Clare lifted her head. "Don't make me go away," she begged him.

"Never," he promised, reaching out to envelop her in his arms. He rocked her slowly back and forth as she cried, wincing every few seconds from the wounds on his chest. "I never wanted you to think that I didn't want you here..." he whispered.

"I know," she said in a choked voice.

"I just wanted you to be aware of the consequences of this life. I love you, Clare," he said, repeating the words over and over again to her until her tears subsided.

She suddenly moved away and stood up. "I've got to go," she said. "They'll be wondering where I am."

He nodded.

"I'll be back... as soon as rehearsals are over."

When Clare arrived on the stage fifteen minutes later, she looked tired and worried. She hurried over to Christine, brow furrowed.

"Clare- what is it?" the prima donna asked.

"Someone's attacked Erik," Clare said.

Christine's blue eyes widened. "When- is he hurt?"

"He's fine. I took care of him... but he'd been stabbed in the chest, Christine."

"Does he know who did it to him?"

Clare shook her head. "No. But I'm afraid to leave him down there, by himself. What if whoever attacked him comes back?"

Christine was about to respond, when they were called on to perform by the furtive-looking director.

Clare left the moment practice was over, heading down once more to the labyrinth.

Erik was sleeping when she arrived, peacefully sprawled out on the bed. He must have heard her come in, because his eyes opened.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I'm trying not to," he said, shifting to a sitting position. He looked Clare over. She looked as though she had just walked across France- her shoulders slumped, her hair was limp, falling around her face carelessly, and her face was white and drawn. He knew she had probably only had two or three hours' sleep the previous night.

"Clare," he said. "Go rest."

She shook her head. "I'm not leaving you here."

"Angel, I'm worried about you," he said. "I'm afraid you're going to collapse soon, you look so weary."

Clare walked over and slipped into bed next to him. "Erik," she began, but she was so tired....

* * *

A/N: hey guys… next chapter might be up tomorrow. Not sure though.I have a few more chapters for this story, then i think it will finally be done! i've already got an ending worked out... but it needs some revision. :) Also- if anyone's interested, I'm posting another phanfic today. It's an MegErik pairing- I'm kinda experimenting with it! come check it out!! in the meantime.... review!! 


	14. Ghosts of the Past

Chapter 14- Ghosts of the Past

A/N: thanks for your reviews! tasha- this chapter is largely in response to your review. you said you wanted to hear some more about clare, so i sat down and wrote another chapter- just kind of a go-between chapter!! but i hope this gives you some insight into some of the things clare has gone through in her life!!! hope u enjoy it!! (needless to say, this is a rather angsty-chapter... but its rather fluffy angst... which some people might classify as being an oxymoron, but its really not. anyway- scuse my ranting. read on, all!)

* * *

Erik smiled at the sleeping woman in his arms. So small and vulnerable- he felt like it was his duty to protect her from all the demons of the world. But as the night wore on, he began to realize that he couldn't save her from everything.

He had been just about to doze off, when he felt Clare flinch and whimper in pain.

"Clare?" he said quietly.

She didn't wake up. He brushed the hair out of her eyes and she flinched again. _"Don't touch me.... please don't hurt me..."_

He frowned. She was dreaming, obviously. But about what, he wondered anxiously.

He called her name, more loudly this time, trying to arouse her.

She didn't respond to him. Instead, she seemed to fall deeper and deeper into the throes of her mind.

Her pleading turned into cries, and she began to thrash around violently. "No... no... please!" she cried loudly.

It was more than Erik could bear. He strained to sit up- the stab wounds on his chest making the action difficult- and grabbed Clare by the shoulders to try and stop her. "Let go of me!" she suddenly screamed.

"Clare!" he yelled loudly.

Her eyes snapped open, the glassy blue orbs looking around wildly in a state of disorientation. She was breathing very hard.

"Erik?" she whispered.

"I'm here," he said, shaken. "What happened?"

She shook her head. "I was- I was dreaming... they- and it was... so real... too real... it was happening..."

"What?" he asked. "What were you dreaming about?"

Her eyes widened, as though she thought she had said too much. "I- nothing," she said quickly, getting out of bed and turning away.

"Flailing and screaming in bed does not constitute nothing, Clare," he said. "Tell me."

"No," she whispered.

"Clare-"

"Don't ask me, Erik. Please don't ask me."

"I want to help you," he said.

"You can't," her sad voice responded. "No one can."

Erik swung his legs out of bed, wincing. He stood behind Clare, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I can try," he said. His eyes fell on Clare's left shoulder blade. The sleeve of her nightgown had been pushed back, exposing a long, thin scar that ran from her lower shoulder to the back of her neck. He traced it with his finger, feeling her shudder as he did so. "What happened?" he whispered, wondering why he had never noticed the scar before.

Clare didn't answer.

Erik turned her around to face him. "Was it your father?" he asked.

Clare shook her head.

"The what happened?" he asked concernedly.

"Something... bad," said Clare, almost inaudibly.

"Was that what you were dreaming about?" he asked.

She nodded.

He tilted her chin up so her eyes met his. "Please tell me, Clare."

Clare closed her eyes, not wanting to relive the memories. She spoke slowly. "Its not the first time I've had this nightmare. I was very young... when it happened... no older than seven. My... my father came home one night, drunk. He had his friends with him. They were all so full of alcohol.... I tried to hide in my room but they found me.... one of them had a knife I think... and things just got out of hand. They hurt me...." a small sob stopped her.

Erik drew her close to him.

She let him hold her for a moment, then stepped back, avoiding his eyes. "I never felt like a human being when I was a child," she said, wiping the tears from her face. "My father made me feel so... responsible... for my mother dying. She died giving birth to me," Clare went on. "I don't know how I survived without her- my father never took care of me. The only one who ever cared about me was one of my mother's old friends- Mademoiselle Devienne. She would come when my father was out... she tended to me as a child. But one day... she stopped coming. I didn't know why, but I think my father had something to do with it." Clare sighed wearily, and sat down on the bed again. Erik sat beside her, arm around her protectively.

Shakily, she continued. "My whole childhood... I was unwanted. No one... no one cared. All I ever heard from my father was how no one would ever want me- no one would ever want to have me as their burden. His words have always echoed in my head... even today, I still hear them... And then yesterday when you said.... when you tried to talk me out of being here... it was my worst fear come true."

Erik immediately felt guilty. He had had no idea Clare would feel this way... had he known; he would have chosen his words more wisely. When he thought about it, it struck him how much Clare was like him. They had both been unloved as children, grown up believing themselves to be worthless... and somehow, by some miracle, they had somehow found each other.

A short while later, Clare had fallen asleep in his arms again. He held her possessively, knowing that she needed him there with her, to help fight away the ghosts of her past.


	15. More Trouble at the Opera House

Chapter 13- More Trouble at the Opera House

(A/N: Serious Erik-angst in this chapter! this isn't flowing as smoothly as I had intended it to, but i'm trying :) please review, and make me happy!!! This chapter, we'll see a slightly different side of Erik...)

* * *

The days continued to pass slowly while Erik recovered. Clare spent most of her time in his lair; coming out only for rehearsals and performances. Erik was back on his feet nearly two weeks later, beginning to wreak havoc once again as the "Opera Ghost". As this started up again, Clare noticed a change in Erik. Something about him had changed, and she wasn't sure if she liked it. She suspected it had come of being confined to his bed for longer than he was accustomed to, but he had become particularly irritable as of late. He spoke little, and always seemed to moody and secretive, spending most of his time in his room.

But when he was out, chaos was the order of the day.

More than one of the dancers had claimed to have seen a man in black disappear into shadows, and on several occasions, objects would fall from the catwalks above.

Raoul and Martin continued to watch over the rehearsals daily. On one particular morning, Christine and the chorus were on the stage when a large set piece suddenly crashed down from above, landing in the middle of the stage, right where Christine had just stood. She looked up in alarm, eyes wide and frightened.

Raoul was on the stage in an instant. "Are you all right Christine?"

She nodded, but she was pale. Was Erik trying to hurt her? She didn't understand it.

From where he was perched, Erik was looking happily on the damage he had caused, but his face fell when he saw Christine's panicked expression. He hadn't intended to hurt her; he wouldn't have, anyway, he had had complete control over the prop- he had been aiming to miss, but her look of shocked surprise upset him. He left the stage quickly after that.

That evening, Clare came down to the labyrinth, looking angry.

"Why did you do that today, Erik?" she asked. "You nearly hurt someone."

He didn't meet her eyes. "It was under control."

"That's not the point," she said. "If it gets out of control, you could cause someone's death. Do you want to be known as a murderer?"

He didn't tell her that he already technically was a murderer- considering the whole incident with Buquet, the stagehand a few years ago. He surmised that she hadn't been told of that.

"I'm sorry, Clare."

"Don't apologize to me," she said bitterly, heading to her own room.

Later that evening, Erik found himself angry. His fists were clenched with silent rage as he sat at his organ bench. He was angry at the world, he was angry at his existence, he was altogether angry at himself. The rage he felt hurt- it burned like the hottest fire from hell. He wanted to just die, to not have to live with the burning, the agony.

Clare came in.

He felt himself tense at her presence.

"Erik," she began, unsure what she wanted to say to him.

"What?" he growled. She heard the suppressed anger in his voice.

"What's wrong, Erik?" she asked, voice taking on more of a hard edge than she had intended. The day's rehearsals had been particularly grueling, and Clare was not in the mood to deal with Erik's melancholic introvertedness that night.

He turned and looked at her. "And what," he asked slowly, breathing heavily. "Would prompt you to think that something is wrong with me?"

She frowned. "I don't know.... you just seem different..."

"Oh, do I?" he asked, strangely defensive.

"Yes. You're acting so strange lately. I never see you anymore... you're always hiding something, and you're always so..."

"So what?"

"So _angry_!"

His temper snapped. "Angry, am I?" he snarled. "Don't I have the right to be angry at the world- at all the people who have shunned me with their cruelty and hate? Can't I just decide to separate myself from the living- to take comfort in the darkness and solitude? You would be angry too, if you were like me! If you knew that there was no one who would ever look on you as anything more than a monster- that the expression in every eye you ever see would only be of either horror or pity? You would resent it, you would be angry!"

"Erik- you know I don't pity you! I love you!" Clare said, frustrated

He clamped his hands over his ears. "No! You don't love me! You can never love me! _Don't lie to me_!"

"I'm not lying- you refuse to listen!"

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do! You stand here before me, and you lie! You lie about your feelings- you lie about loving me.... you don't! _You don't_!"

He advanced on her. Clare took a step backward in fear. "You..." he began, "are the reason why I was denied the death that I had been craving for so long. You forced me to live... only to lie to me, to deny me what I want..."

There was a wild look in his eye that Clare had never seen before. Her heart was pounding in fear- she was more afraid of Erik now than she had ever been of her father. She continued to recoil.

"I never lied to you, Erik," she said quietly.

He grabbed her wrists suddenly, and forced her back against the wall, shaking her. "I want you to lie to me! I want you to hate me! I want you to leave me here to die.... just let me die!"

Clare whimpered in pain- the bones of her wrists grinding into the stone of the wall.

"Lie to me, Clare," he begged desperately. _"Lie to me..."_

He released her.

Afraid, she ran for her room, locking the heavy door behind her.

He sank to his knees, mind clearing so that he could dwell on what he had just done.

He had hurt her.

He had heard her make a small noise of pain under his steel grip. He had seen the fear in her eyes- the fear that he had put there. Tears of anguish began to stream down his face. He had hurt her- his beautiful Clare, who he loved... he had harmed her. He pounded his fists into the stone of the floor, wanting to punish himself.

"Clare," he whispered through his tears, "please forgive me!"

From her room, Clare listened to Erik's anguished sobs intensify, as he repeated his plea, louder and louder, until she could stand it no longer.

She looked down at her wrists; they were turning red from where Erik had held them. It was like he had been a different person, she thought with disgust. She sat down on the edge of her bed, trembling, remembering that it had been just a few nights ago that she had fallen asleep in Erik's arms. She, also suddenly found herself in tears- tears of grief and disbelief. What had caused Erik to be like this? Why couldn't things have stayed perfect, like they had been? Why did everything in the world have to harbor such sadness?

She fell back against the pillows. So what happens now? She thought hopelessly. She was afraid to leave her room, afraid to face Erik again.

When his anguished cries finally subsided, Erik picked himself up off the floor, feeling as though a part of him were missing. And then he realized- that space inside of him where he thought of Clare was now a dark, cold void. In its place was the searing memory of her, helpless, against the wall as he threatened her. He walked to her door, and knocked gently.  
"Clare?" he breathed, barely loud enough, but she heard him.

She didn't answer him.

"Clare," she heard him say desperately. "Please..."

She squeezed her eyes shut. That voice was still in her mind. It would always be with her. But she could resist it. She remained lying on the bed.

And didn't move for three days.

She heard Erik, moving about, and every now and then she would hear something break. The sounds would sadden her, but they also frightened her. She was afraid of what Erik would do if she came out. And then there was the time each day when he would come to her door, pleading with her to come out. As the days went by, he began to worry- if she didn't come out, she would starve to death in a short time. Other times, he would worry that she had killed herself, but then he would hear her crying softly and breath a sigh of relief, knowing that, for the moment, she was still alive.

* * *

In the world above, no one could explain what had happened to Clare. The manager had to deny to various speculating papers that the young diva had infact been carried off by the Opera Ghost.

Christine had thought that maybe Clare had just lost track of time again, but as the days passed, she began to doubt that that was the case. She knew Clare wouldn't be this careless.

Martin wanted to go down to Erik's lair himself, but Christine put a stop to that immediately.

"He'll kill you," she said darkly. "Or Raoul. The only other one he lets down there is me."

The two men settled on letting Christine go down to the labyrinth through the mirror in the dressing room, and they would wait at the entrance, incase something were to go wrong.

"If anything happens," said Raoul, "Just yell, and we'll come for you."

Christine nodded, glancing warily at the revolvers that the two men carried. Raoul kissed her quickly before she started down the passageway.

When they heard her footsteps die off, he looked at Martin.

"This has gone too far," he said angrily. "If things had gone as planned, we wouldn't be dealing with this now." He raised an eyebrow at his friend.

"I thought he was dead," said Martin. "I stabbed him several times- he was unconscious when I left."

Raoul let out a deep breath. "I have another plan," he said slowly.

"Name it," said Martin.

"We'll set a trap for the phantom," Raoul said. His mind wandered to the last time he had decided to set a trap. That had ultimately resulted in Christine's abduction and him almost dying at the hands of a psychotic murderer. But they would have the upper hand this time. They would have the bait in their hands, safe this time....

* * *

Christine hurried along the tunnel until she reached the edge of the lake. The boat was nowhere in sight. There was no other way to reach the lair.

"Erik!" she called out, hoping he would hear. Her voice echoed through the hollow, cave like walls of the cellar before disappearing into silence. She called him again, a little louder this time, and waited. Minutes slid slowly past.

She was about to turn back, when she saw a figure materialize out of the fog. It was Erik, in the boat.

"Christine," he said. "Why are you here?"

"Where is Clare?" Christine asked anxiously.

"She's here. Come with me." He extended his hand and helped her into the boat. They said nothing to each other until they had reached the opposite shore.

"Where is she?" Christine repeated.

"Oh Christine," Erik said desperately. "It's my fault.... I- did something terrible..."

Christine's eyes widened with fear. "What did you do to her, Erik?"

"I hurt her," he cried out, like a wounded animal. "I lost my temper... and... I grabbed her by the wrists... I never meant to hurt her, Christine, you have to believe me. I love her! I love her...." he whispered, burying his head in his hands.

Christine understood. She stroked Erik's hair comfortingly, embracing him like he was a young child. "It's all right, Erik," she said softly. "Where is she now?" Christine asked.

"In her room," he said. "The- the one you stayed in," he elaborated.

Christine nodded. "I'll be right back," she said. She moved quickly down the hallway, and knocked on the closed door.

"Clare? It's me- Christine."

Clare was lying on her bed, despairingly, waiting to die when she heard Christine's voice.

"Clare- please open the door," her friend pleaded.

Clare slid off the bed, weak from fatigue, and opened the door a small crack.

"Come with me," Christine said. "I've come to take you home."

Clare stepped out, tired and shivering. Christine put a protective arm around her. Her friend was ice cold. She held Clare close as they walked down the passage together. As they passed him, Clare couldn't bring herself to meet Erik's eyes. He noticed her avoidance of him, and it broke his heart.

"Take the boat," he said to Christine. "Just go."

He watched them leave from the organ bench, just as he had when Christine had left with Raoul a few years ago. Clare closed her eyes as she heard him crying quietly for her.

The two women hurried down the passage, where they were helped out by Raoul and Martin.  
"Let's go," said Christine.

"Where?" Raoul asked.

"Back to our flat," said Christine.

"I'll get a cab," offered Martin, hurrying off.

* * *

The ride to the deChagny's apartment passed silently. Clare didn't say a word- just stared blankly out the window, thinking of Erik. Despite what he had done, she still loved him. She would always love him. It took all her restraint to keep herself from breaking free of Christine's hold on her and running back down to the lair. Erik was like a dangerous drug to her- he hurt her, but she needed him- she couldn't live without him.

When they arrived at the house, Clare was put into the spare bedroom. Christine gave her a cup of some strong liquid that made Clare very drowsy, until finally, she drifted off into sleep.

* * *

Back at the Opera House, Erik was going mad.

There was no one there to hear him screaming and crying, begging for Clare to somehow return to him. He went into her room, trying to feel close to her, but only felt the cold of his own solitude.

He stood up suddenly. He needed to talk to another human being. Throwing his cloak over his shoulders, he stormed out of his lair, off to the destination he had mentioned to Clare before he had been stabbed.

* * *

Nearly an hour and a half later, he was knocking on the door of a house on the outskirts of Paris.

A tall, dark-skinned man answered.

"Erik?" He asked in a thick, Persian accent.

"It's me, daroga," he said scornfully.

"You look troubled, my friend," the Persian said, opening the door wider so that Erik could enter.

The phantom forced a laugh. "How right you are," he said sarcastically.

They went into a small sitting room; Erik sat on a small sofa, the Persian on an armchair opposite him. The Persian poured Erik and himself glasses of rich amber liquid, and reclined in his seat.

"What has happened?" he asked.

Erik sighed. "I'm at my wit's end, Nadir," he said, running a hand through his dark hair.

"Have you met someone, Erik?"

Erik started. "Is it that obvious?"

Nadir nodded. "You get this way whenever you are thinking of another person. Now tell me who it is."

"A young woman. Named... Clare," he almost couldn't bring himself to say her name.

Nadir's look changed. "A young woman? Erik- I thought you had decided..."

"I know what I decided!" he snapped. "I know I said that after Christine, I never wanted to see anyone again. But then she just... appeared one day, and I...." He broke off, got his thoughts in line, and began again. "She saved me once from a suicide attempt. I was about to knife myself when I heard her voice for the first time. I connected to her through music..."

"Erik... this is beginning to sound like history repeating itself," said the Persian sternly. "I do not want to see you do something rash again, like you did with Madmoiselle Daae."

"She's Madame deChagny now," Erik said hollowly.

"I see."

"But Clare's gone now, too."

"Tell me what happened," Nadir said.

"I don't know.... what came over me. But I was so angry at everything... I was angry at her, for loving me."

"Did she say she loved you, Erik?"

He nodded.

"Has she seen-?"

He nodded again.

"And what spurned your anger?"

Erik thought. "I don't know," he said. "Something inside of me just broke... I didn't want to be loved. I wanted to be hurt and rejected, but I wanted Clare at the same time. Badly. And it drove me.... it drove me to madness. I hurt Clare- not badly, but she was not expecting it. She looked at me with betrayed eyes, and it cut me to the heart. I felt... I felt like a monster."

The Persian's face was grim. "Erik," he said sternly. "You must learn to control yourself. You cannot allow your temper to harm others- especially this girl."

"I know!" he said miserably. "But I cannot help it- it takes over me."

"What are you going to do now, Erik?"

"I don't know," he moaned into his hands. "Can't you tell me, daroga?"

"I cannot tell your heart what to do, my friend. The question is something you must find the answer to." Nadir paused, then looked at the man before him. "Do you love her, Erik?"

Erik looked up at the Persian. "More than anything in this world," he said very quietly. "I need her, Nadir."

The Persian's look softened. Erik spoke with such sadness- something that could only be expected of someone who had suffered as much as he had.

"But would she be willing to live a life with you?" Nadir asked.

"I asked her the same thing," Erik said. "She said she didn't care. But that was before I-"

"I don't know, Erik," the Persian sighed. "I would like to tell you to seek her out, and tell her how you feel for her, but I am not sure if that would be wise. You must ask yourself, Erik, if it is worth sacrificing your heart to find out the truth."

A/N: well... this was a tricky chapter to write, to say the least. but now... the stage is set for some action!! things will heat up in the next chappie, i promise! (just a quick poll... how many people actually like Raoul??) Review and tell me!!


	16. The Last Performance

Ok: before i bring on the most explosive chapter yet... some Author's Notes! (i know, i know, i suck- humor me!)

POTCgirl- hey: you made me laugh so hard with the 'make raoul walk the plank' thing! I totally agree with that one, mate! And in response to your comment: i hear you on how Christine is acting pretty dumb in the fact that she hasn't figured out about who was responsible for Erik's wounds. however, the way i see her, she is living on planet DENIAL! i mean, would you want to believe that your husband is a murderous wacco? but fear not... all will be revealed in this chapter... in the meantime, keep reviewing!

* * *

Chapter 16- The Last Performance 

(A/N: Raoul lovers, beware:) )

Clare woke the next morning to sunlight streaming in through a window. She sat up, unknowing of where she was.

"Clare?"

Christine entered the room. "You're awake," she said.

"What happened?" Clare asked.

"We brought you here from Erik's," Christine responded.

A wave of emptiness swept over Clare suddenly as she remembered.

"I need to go back, Christine," she said. "I need to see Erik."

Her friend hesitated. "I don't think that's a good idea, Clare. You both need time apart... things went too far."

"But if I don't go back, he'll think... he'll think that I've left him. Christine- I can't leave him alone."

"We'll go back to the Opera House in a few days," said Christine soothingly. "The last performance of Aida is in a week, if you think you can do it."

Clare nodded.

"I want you to stay here until then, though."

Clare shut her eyes. "Christine..."

"It's for your own good, Clare. Yours and Erik's."

That was the final word on the matter.

* * *

Clare stayed at the deChagny's house for the week, recovering the strength she had lost, and preparing for the last show on Saturday. Clare and Christine would practice every day, at the piano in the parlor. Christine had taught herself to play enough to allow them musical accompaniment as they rehearsed their parts. 

Finally, they returned to the Opera House. Clare felt like she was coming home again when she stepped through the doors to the theatre. The final run-through went without incident, but the phantom was there.

He watched them from Box 5, watched Clare sing, watched her the song take hold of her and possess her like he had taught her. His heart broke again to remember what he had done.

When the curtain went up for the last time on Aida, Clare found herself gazing in the direction of Box 5, praying that Erik was there, though she couldn't see through the harsh limelight.

The performance was exquisite, as usual. Erik was captivated by Clare, as he always was. At intermission, he ducked out of his box like he always did, to remain unseen. When the lights went out again, he crept back, finding himself aching to see Clare again. He saw Monsieur Longere, the manager; walk onstage, infront of the curtain.

"I have been asked to inform you," he began, "that in the second act, the part of Amneris will be sung by Michelle duMariae."

Erik did a double take. That was Clare's part.

Something was wrong.

He could sense it.

As the curtain rose, his eyes fell on a piece of folded parchment on the chair next to him. He picked it up, opening it to find a note.

Inscribed in red ink were two words in strange handwriting:

_Apollo's Lyre_

His heart hammered against his chest. Was this a message from Clare? He wondered. Or something else...

The parchment fell from his hands as he swept out of his box, heading for the roof. His mind was torturing him with thoughts of what might have happened to Clare.

He had to find her.

He sprinted up the stairs leading up to the roof two at a time, and then opened the door cautiously. His hand tightened around the Punjab lasso.

He heard a noise that sounded like a dulled shriek, coming from the other side of one of the statues. He walked over cautiously- eyes moving behind his mask to see everything.

He whipped around the corner of the statue, and saw Clare, lying on the ground, struggling against the ropes that were binding her. There was a gag over her mouth.

Erik's breath caught in his throat as he bent down, frantically trying to untie her. He removed the cloth from her mouth, and she cried out in relief, throwing her arms around his neck. He tried to stay upright as best as he could- Clare's weight was threatening to pull him down on top of her.

"Oh, Erik," she breathed. "Thank god." She was crying tears of desperation.

"What happened?" he asked her quickly, pulling himself away from her slightly.

"M-Martin. H-He grabbed me when I came off stage. H-He bound me and took me up here. Erik-" she said suddenly, placing a hand on his chest. "You have to get out of here- now!"

"Why?"

"I think Martin's up to something- this might be a trap!"

He pulled her to her feet. "Come on."

"Not so fast!" a voice rang out.

From the other side of the roof, Clare could see Raoul's outline- hulking and menacing-looking. The moonlight glinted off a long knife he held in his hand.

Erik stepped protectively in front of Clare.

"Ah- Erik," the Vicomte said. "How nice of you to join us."

"What do you want, boy?" Erik asked loudly. "You've taken Christine from me. What more do you want?"

As Clare heard the raw anger in Erik's voice, she knew that he was still in love with Christine. It was something she accepted bitterly now.

"I want you to pay," Raoul said lowly, advancing.

"Your fight is with me, Raoul," the phantom said. "You needn't have dragged Clare into this."

"But she was the bait for this little trap, of course," said Raoul. "I had to get you alone. I knew that if anything was to happen to her, you would come."

Erik laughed sarcastically. "Not so creative, are you, Vicomte? If I'm not mistaken, this trick has already been used... by me. Do you remember?" he sneered. "That night in the dungeons? You wouldn't be standing here tonight, if that little trap would have worked as I had planned."

Raoul paled, but continued advancing.

"Clare," said Erik, not taking his eyes off the knife Raoul carried, "Get out of here. Now."

Her small voice sounded from behind him. "Erik- no..."

"Do as I say, Clare," he said, and she heard the desperation in his voice. "_Please_," he whispered so that Raoul couldn't hear him. "Get Christine."

"I love you, Erik," Clare whispered. "Please be careful." She began to move toward the door, knowing it would anger Erik if she stayed. She took one last look at his brave, masked face, praying that she would see him again, and then bolted down the stairs, toward the stage.

* * *

The Opera was still going on as Clare ran backstage. She came in right as Christine's scene ended. 

"Christine! _Christine_!" she hissed desperately.

"Clare!" said Christine in wonder. "Where were you?"

"Christine!" said Clare, out of breath, "you have to come, now!"

Christine grabbed her by the arms. "Why? What is it?"

"It's Erik- Raoul's on the roof with him! He's got a knife- he wants to kill him!"

Christine paled- her bright blue eyes grew wide. Her worst fear had come true.

She grabbed a cloak that was resting on a nearby surface, and the two girls began to run for the roof.

* * *

Meanwhile, Raoul was still advancing on Erik. 

"Gracious of you to spare her the honor of witnessing your death, _phantom,_" said the Vicomte. He laughed villainously. "Vengeance _is_ sweet."

"What will Christine think when she finds you've murdered me?" Erik asked, tauntingly.

"Oh, never you mind about that. She will understand- when I tell her of how you cornered me on the roof, looking for revenge after all these years. I'll tell her how I didn't _want _to kill you, but you left me no choice and I had to act in my own defense. You see, Erik, Christine loves me. Which is something I know you know little about. She believes me because she loves me. I'm her husband."

Erik laughed at Raoul's stupidity. "Christine won't believe you," he said. "I may die tonight, Raoul, but tomorrow, you'll lose everything. You forget- Christine also loved me. She gave me her mind. I know what she will and won't believe."

With a savage-like yell, Raoul charged. Erik dodged him, moving quickly to grab the viscount's collar, forcing off his feet, and the knife flying through his hands. They both ended up on the ground, but Erik was on top, punching Raoul as viciously as he could. But his adversary wasn't weak- Raoul soon forced Erik off of him with a surprise blow to the jaw, which knocked his mask askew. He backed off to force it into place.

"Still ashamed of your own face?" Raoul taunted. There was a gash on his temple from sliding across the rough stone floor.

He kicked out at Erik, who was bent double, catching his breath. The phantom was knocked to the ground. Raoul kicked him in the jaw- hard- savoring the sound of the porcelain mask against the stone. Erik rolled over, spitting out blood from a cut on his lip. Raoul had picked up the knife and was running at him again. Erik's years of self-defense training kicked in. He jumped out of the way, taking Raoul down with a sideways kick to the groin.

The knife fell again, and this time, Erik leapt to retrieve it. He sprang onto of Raoul like a cat, meaning to drive the knife into the bastard's throat, but the Vicomte caught his arm, holding him off. With his other hand, Raoul went for Erik's weak spot. He punched at the mask with as much force as he could.

The porcelain molding, weakened from Erik's previous fall, cracked, ramming a sharp edge into Erik's cheek. The phantom screamed in pain, backing away, holding the side of his face. The flesh on the right side was burning as he felt the jagged edge drive in even further. With a yelp of pain, he pulled it off, throwing it to the ground. The usual pristine white mask was now red- covered in his blood.

Raoul was advancing once more, knife in hand, looking triumphant.

"One more scar won't hurt, will it, Erik?" he said haughtily.

He took a step closer, backing Erik closer and closer to roof's edge. "I've wanted to do this for two years," said Raoul viciously. "To finally give you what you deserve, for all the pain you've caused me."

He lunged out, and Erik tried to evade him, but the effort caused him to step back... too far.

It felt like slow motion.

Erik's black-cloaked body, flying through the air, off the roof, nearly five stories above the city.

At the last moment, his gloved hand caught onto the edge of a gargoyle that was carved into the side of the roof.

He looked up in horror, as Raoul's face appeared above him, pitiless and mirthful. His laughter pierced the night air like a poisoned arrow.

"You've reached the point of no return, _phantom_!" Raoul said triumphantly. "Now- embrace the destruction you've earned!"

He reached down, knife ready to slash Erik's grip off the gargoyle.

"NO!" came a sudden shriek.

Someone grabbed Raoul by the shoulder, pulling him back. Overcome by cold rage, Christine punched him squarely across the jaw, and knocked the knife out of his hands as Clare rushed over to help Erik.

She bent over the railing and saw him, helplessly holding on for dear life.

"Hold on!" She called to him, reaching down with all her might. "Hold on, Erik!"

She leaned down farther, hand reaching the top of the gargoyle.

Behind her, Christine's voice pierced the night.

"Raoul!" she shrieked at her husband, who was cowering against a stone pillar. "You betrayed me!" she spat disgustedly.

"No- Christine- I didn't- I never-"

"You were going to KILL him!" she screamed.

Raoul dropped to his knees before her, weeping. "Christine, forgive me- please forgive me!"

"Why should I? You almost _killed_ him!"

"I did it because I love you! Please understand, Christine. I wanted revenge- I was jealous."

"Why, Raoul- why did you let your jealousy let you do this? Wasn't my marrying you enough? You couldn't be happy then? It wasn't enough?"

"Christine- I'm so sorry..."

Christine dropped the knife, still disgusted with the man who she was now ashamed to call her husband.

Clare was still struggling to help Erik, whose gloved hands were slowly slipping off the stone carving.

"Clare-" he said, looking up into her eyes with a final look.

"No..." she shook her head. "Don't even..." she whispered.

She stretched out her hand to him, extending every muscle she possessed. "Give me your hand!" she yelled.

She closed her eyes, straining, until she felt his hand brush into hers. Her eyes snapped open, and she tightened her grip. Holding on as hard as she could, she started to pull him up. It was slow work- even with Erik doing everything he could to help her. He was thin, but still heavier than she could manage easily. She felt him slipping.

"Don't let go!" she said.

He could hear the tears in her voice, and wanted, more that anything he had ever wanted before in his life, to live through this. To live for her. To come out of this and comfort her, tell her he would always be there for her. This resolve gave him a new strength. He scaled up the wall, until finally, he came to the top, and Clare was able to pull him up. When he was finally out of danger, they collapsed in each other's arms, exhausted.

"I thought I lost you," Clare cried into his jacket.

He shook his head and held her closer. They stood up.

"I will never leave you, Clare," he said tenderly, tilting her chin up and kissing her- a long, satisfying kiss that warmed Clare all over..

_Everything would be all right_, Erik thought in that moment. His angel was back- she still cared for him...

A gunshot rang out suddenly, and Erik fell to the ground, Clare falling with him.

"NO!" Clare shrieked, spinning around to look at the shooter.

Martin had emerged from behind a statue, revolver still smoking, looking victorious. "Say goodbye to the monster!" he said victoriously.

Covered in Erik's blood, Clare stood up, in rage. "The only monster here is you... you _fiend_!"

She flew at him, hands going for his throat. She felt the gun fall from his hands as she knocked him back. She scrambled to pick it up, but felt Martin's weight slam down on top of her.

Christine rushed over to Erik's side. The bullet had entered him through the arm and nicked his chest, both of which were gushing blood.

"Christine," he whispered through pale lips. "Get- Nadir. Go." His eyes closed.

Christine remembered the Persian. She knew where he lived in the city- she also knew that he would probably be able to help Erik. She didn't want to leave Clare, but also knew that Martin wouldn't kill her. It was the phantom he wanted. And Erik needed help. She grabbed Raoul by the collar. She didn't trust him on the roof with Erik- he would come with her.

Clare and Martin were still struggling on the ground. Clare clawed, hit, and punched every part of him that she came in contact with. After a desperate scramble, Clare held the gun. She stood up- aiming it levelly at Martin's chest.

"Give me a reason, Martin," she said poisonously. "Why I shouldn't pull this trigger and blow you to _hell._"

"You won't do it, will you, Clare?" he asked gently. She could sense the quiet fear in his voice.

"Won't I?" She raised an eyebrow.

She took a step toward him, and he backed away.

"Now Clare," he said. "You don't want to do this..."

"I don't?" she said thoughtfully. "Because at the moment, nothing would please me more than to see your bloody remains covering the street.

Any color left in Martin's face disappeared.

Clare continued to advance, and he continued cowering in fear.

"Clare- please-"

Those were the last words he would say in his life. No sooner had they left his mouth, Martin found himself falling, having reached the edge of the roof and losing his balance as Erik had. He fell, screaming, to the street below. Clare looked down at his body with disgust, and dropped the gun down to land next to him.

Then, she ran to Erik's side. He wasn't moving.

"Erik- _no_," she whispered, tears blinding her.

Erik didn't move.

"Erik," she pleaded softly. "You said you would never leave me. Please don't leave me now. Stay with me, Erik."

She turned his head toward her, trying to arouse him, but he remained still.

"Come back to me, Erik," she shook his body, trying to make him hear her. She put her hands on his face, his beautiful, unmasked face, and wept like she had never wept before.

* * *

A/N: arrg! The dreaded cliff hanger... I am truly an evil person... 

But I was so crying when I wrote that last scene... and now the question is: Will Erik live? so... love it? hate it? review and tell me wat u think should happen... cause i have 2 different endings for this story! but which to use? you'll have 2 wait and see! Muahahaha! I really hope you guys like this... its my favorite chapter so far...!

-backs away nervously from murderous looking crowd of readers who want answers now- ummm... i love you guys!


	17. The Webs We Weave'

A/N: let me start by saying that i had so much fun reading your reviews from chapter 15!

POTCgirl- thanks for reviewing each chapter- means a lot. -reads ch. 15 review- "no- not the plank! please capt'n- anything but the plank!" and sorry, but the phantom's currently camped out in my closet, but maybe when he needs a vacation, i'll send him your way. savvy?

* * *

Chapter 15- The Webs We Weave

Nadir arrived a short time later with Christine and Raoul, to find Clare and Erik still on the roof. Clare looked grief-stricken- eyes red, kneeling beside Erik's lifeless body. The Persian knelt down next to the phantom, and felt for a pulse.

There was a moment when Clare's life seemed suspended in midair, waiting for the Persian's word.

"He lives still," Nadir said. "We must get him indoors."

Raoul, in a ditch effort to convince Christine of his love for her, helped Nadir carry Erik's limp form down to the cellar, and lay him on the bed.

Then, the Persian went to work, removing the bullet, cleaning and dressing the wound with medicine and oils he had brought. Raoul and Christine waited outside, in the main room, but Clare refused to leave. She sat in a chair in the corner, watching Erik's face, eyes never moving away.

Nadir's impression was that the poor girl was in a state of shock- the way she was sitting unnaturally silent, face like stone; hand resting on her chin.

* * *

While they- or he, rather, since she was merely sitting- tended to Erik, Christine and Raoul were facing each other with unknown feelings.

Christine had never felt more betrayed in her life; Raoul had never felt more despondent. The mood between the young couple was tense as they sat in the silence of the lair, as if waiting for someone to give them lines and instruct them on what to say to each other.

When Christine spoke, her voice was hollow and dead sounding. "Why did you do it, Raoul?" she asked. "Why, after all that we've been through, did you try to hurt him?"

He looked repentful. "Christine, my love, I just wanted revenge on him. It nearly drove me mad when you would wake up calling out his name- yes, I heard you doing it. The only conclusion that I could draw was that you still had feelings for him, and it made me burn with such jealousy!"

"Of course I still love him!" she exclaimed bitterly. "He was my mentor, my teacher. He showed me things I had never known... I would not be human if I did not still care for him, even if only out of pity for his woeful existence!"

"Please, Christine- do not hold this against me," her husband begged. "I love you, now and always... please forgive me!"

Christine looked at him with a mixture of sadness and disgust. "I do not know if I can."

Raoul's desperation turned to anger. "You forgave Erik, did you not? After he tried to kill me? Is this not the same situation? How is what I did different from what Erik has done to us?"

"He did it because he loved me, Raoul!"

"_I _did it because _I_ love you, too!" he responded indignantly.

Christine held a hand to her forehead. "Raoul- please go. Just leave here now. I cannot bring myself to discuss this now."

Raoul stood, feeling that all hope was gone. "Christine," he pleaded with her before departing. "Please come back to me... I will wait for you forever- I swear it!"

As he left, Christine slipped off the golden wedding band he had given her the day they were married and deposited it into her pocket. Perhaps she would wear it again someday, perhaps not.

* * *

Meanwhile, in Erik's room, Nadir had finished his work.

He stood up and made to leave the room, giving Clare instructions to notify him as soon as Erik woke up.

Clare didn't respond, but as he left, she whispered, in a small, terrified voice much like a child's, "Do you think he'll be all right?"

The Persian turned back to face the small young woman, rubbing his eyes in tired thought as he did so. "Erik's been through worse than hell and survived," he said. "I think he will recover from this."

Clare nodded, as if to reassure herself of his words.

"You care deeply for Erik, don't you child?" he asked gently.

"Yes," Clare whispered, in a nearly inaudible whisper. "Very much."

"Then I have no doubt that he will return to you," Nadir said sagely. "His spirit will find you- wherever you go."

And with that he left, leaving Clare to process his words. She prayed that he was right- she would sacrifice anything at that moment to have Erik alive and well again. She wanted to tell him- needed to tell him- that she needed him with her.

Clare stayed by his bed all night, refusing to leave even when Christine came in and begged her to rest.

She refused silently.

The hours slid by painfully slowly as she watched the steady motion of Erik's chest rising and falling as he breathed.

She saw a fresh cut on the side of his face- a deep red scar that now ran from below his eyelid down his cheek, from where the mask had broken.

The mask.

Clare had picked it up before she had left the roof last night- it had caught her eye, lying on the rooftop broken in half and covered with his blood.

Clare shivered to herself as she thought of what the mask breaking meant. Erik would no longer be able to hide himself from the world he feared any longer. The broken mask in her hands stood for the future...the transcendence from shadows into light. But would Erik accept it when he came back? The mask was his comfort... how would he react to its destruction?

As the hours passed, Clare began to wonder if she would ever know the answer to that question.

A/N: is raoul a little whiny bastard or what? ;)wink! Review!


	18. The Angel Awakens

Chapter 18- The Angel Awakens

(A/N: featuring some sappiness and a little bit o' ANGST! review, cause i love you guys!

Note: THIS IS NOT THE FINAL CHAPTER! THERE WILL BE AT LEAST 1 MORE!)

* * *

It was the threshold of morning- somewhere between the sleeping and waking hours, where night still reigns but dawn threatens the world with a thin stripe on the horizon.

It was at this time when the angel stirred.

Erik's first thought when he regained consciousness was that he wanted to die. The pain was so great and terrible- it was like he had been run over with ten horse-drawn carriages. He couldn't remember what had happened to make him feel this way, and tried to remember where he had been the previous night.

There were several images in the depths of his mind like puzzle pieces that he couldn't fully fit together. Having no way to interpret them, they were useless to him.

He opened his eyes miserably.

At first he thought he was alone, and he was beginning to wonder how he was going to face another day without his angel, when he saw Clare.

Amazed, he smiled at her.

From the looks of things, she had been kneeling by his bedside and had fallen asleep. Her head was resting on the bed, locks of hair falling out of their braid to frame her face. He tried to reach out to her, but the sudden pain that stabbed at his arm was too intense and he winced.

_What had happened to him?_ He tried desperately to remember.

Clare mumbled something indiscernible in her sleep, then woke with a sudden start.

She blinked, and then her eyes rested on him. Double taking, she saw him apprehending her with his serious dark eyes.

"Erik?" she whispered.

He nodded.

It took all the restraint Clare possessed not to throw her arms around him and cry tears of relief. But she settled on a more subdued reaction. "I thought I had lost you," she said. "On the roof. I- I thought you were gone. Do you remember?"

His dark eyes clouded. The memories were starting to come back to him. He could see in his mind's eye Clare, trying to pull him up onto the roof... making it... he was kissing her... then pain- a gunshot. He remembered hearing her voice before falling into shadow.

Clare saw the shiver pass over his face as he remembered. She stood and moved closer to him, stroking the deformed side of his face comfortingly.

He realized, with a jolt, that his mask had been removed. He tried, instinctively, to push her away and hide, but she didn't let him. Her fingers ran over the new scar on his face, and he broke out in goose bumps. It hurt, but not badly. The memory of Raoul punching it off of him stung worse.

"My mask..." he said, "where- where is it?"

Clare lifted the two halves of the mask off the night table and showed it to him.

He took them from her, cradling them gently, looking at them with an unreadable expression. His hands began to shake violently, and the mask fell.

Clare covered his hands with her own. His fingers were as cold as ice- and they remained that way as she held them.

"Where's Christine?" he asked suddenly.

His question caught Clare off guard. She couldn't mask her sadness as she pointed in the direction of the main room. "She's here. She's been here all night..."

"Is Raoul here with her?"

Clare didn't know. "I don't think so. I think she might have told him to leave."

She was about to say more, when the Persian appeared in the doorway.

"I thought I told you to inform me when Erik awakened," he said, but not unkindly.

Clare stood up. "I'm sorry," she quickly apologized.

"Would you mind leaving Erik and I alone for a short time?" he asked her.

She shook her head, squeezing the phantom's hands a final time before leaving.

When she was gone, Erik sighed, and tried to sit up.

"Rest, my friend," said Nadir. "You need to regain your strength."

Erik nodded, and sank back down.

"You are lucky to be alive," the Persian went on. "With all you have been through in the last few weeks..."

"It's over now, though," said Erik. "It's all over."

"And yet, life continues," Nadir said. "And there are some scars that will never leave you. Do you know of what I speak, Erik?"

"You're not talking about this, are you?" he asked, pointing to the gunshot wound.

Nadir shook his head. "There are other ways a man can be scarred. Wounds heal over time, but the marks that they leave on us never fully heal. And always remember the danger of opening old wounds. The scars that seem healed can sometimes hurt us worst of all."

"You speak of Christine," said Erik. "Don't you, daroga?"

"I do," Nadir said. "The tragedy of betrayal has fallen upon her." He rose. "The time may come, Erik, when you must make a choice like the one you posed to her years ago. Do not let your heart be lead astray..."

He left. Erik frowned.

He had no idea what the Persian was talking about. Something to do with Christine... but what that something was, his mind couldn't handle at the moment.

* * *

Clare was waiting when Nadir left Erik's room.

"Can I see him?" she asked.

"Better if we let him rest now," the dark man said. "He needs to build up his strength if he is expected to recover. You may see him later on, but for now, let him rest." He handed her a bottle of something. "I must return home," he said. "Make him drink a spoonful of this when he wakes."

Clare nodded, and Nadir left.

She turned to Christine, who was seated at the organ, still wearing her costume from Aida.

Clare sat down opposite her.

Christine spoke in a small voice. "I can't believe," she began slowly. "That Raoul would do something like this... If I had known... what he was planning, I would have stopped him. I can only think that this is my fault..."

Christine broke down. "Oh, Clare- I think I made the wrong choice!" she said. "When Erik asked me to stay down here and marry him... and I couldn't say yes..." She buried her head in her hands. "I know you love him," she said. "But now I wish that I could..." she trailed off, catching herself before she said the words. Clare didn't need to hear them, not now.

Clare's face fell, and she knew exactly what Christine was thinking. She was wanting to go back to Erik. She wanted him now, now that Raoul had shown his true colors.

And Erik... Clare's heart sank to the floor. Erik still loved Christine, she knew- she could hear it in the way he spoke whenever she was near. He would want to be with her now, to comfort her. If he had to choose, Clare knew in her heart that Erik still belonged to Christine.

Christine saw Clare's expression change, and knew she had let on too much. But Clare stood quickly- too quickly- and said, "You should probably change out of that costume. I'll find you something- there's a bunch of stuff back here..." she left quickly, heading for the old costume room. Once she was safely out of earshot, she let herself cry- leaning against the wall for support.

What did she want? The little voice in her head nagged her. Did she want to spend her life with Erik?

Yes.

But did he want to share it with her?

Probably not.

Would he choose her over Christine?

No.

_What's it going to be, then_, her mind screamed at her. _You can convince Erik to choose you... You can fight for the man you love…_

No.

_I want him to be happy_, she thought. And if that meant choosing a life with Christine, then that was what she wanted for him.

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, quickly found a dress for Christine to wear, and returned to the main room.

"Thank you," said Christine when Clare handed her the dress- a dark blue silk gown. "Clare," she asked, removing her costume and slipping the gown on over her underclothes. "You look like you've been crying," she said, voice full of concern.

_Yes,_ Clare thought, _I'm crying for a life without Erik because he wants you and not me_. She shook her head. "I'm just tired," Clare responded. "These past few days have been mentally and physically exhausting."

"Is it what I said about Erik?" she asked suddenly.

Clare's spine went rigid.

"Oh, Clare," said Christine. "I'm sorry... I shouldn't have said it... I didn't think-"

"Do you still love him, Christine?"

Christine flushed, then nodded.

"Well," said Clare. "Then... then you two should be together. If that's what you want. I know that's what he wants."

"But is it what you want?"

"I want Erik to be happy," Clare said firmly. She turned and disappeared down the hall- going into the room that Erik normally slept in. She shivered involuntarily when she saw the coffin, but didn't let that stop her. She changed into a clean dress- a long, black one with a straight skirt. It was very loose around the waist- a startling reminder of how much weight she had lost in the past few weeks. She was skinnier than was healthy, she knew, but lately she had found no interest in eating. Erik seldom did, and as she spent most of her time in the labyrinth with him, she hadn't been doing so either. A wave of exhaustion passed over her, and she climbed into the coffin without thinking twice. It smelled of sandalwood and incense, and reminded her of Erik. She closed her eyes and imagined he was lying next to her. The beautiful illusion that her mind made her live through was so perfect that when she woke up hours later, the pillow was streaked with her tears.

* * *

When she woke up again, Clare had no idea what time it was. She lifted herself out of the coffin- slightly revolted that she had slept there, but nonetheless felt refreshed and awake.

She padded softly down the hall toward Erik's room, when she heard voices. Erik was awake, and Christine was with him.

"-told him that I might go back. Or I might not," Christine was saying, and it didn't take a genius to realize what she was talking about.

"Where's your ring?" she heard Erik say hoarsely. "You wedding band?"

"I took it off," Christine said softly. "Until I decide..." She sighed. "I'm beginning to regret the decision I made, Erik," she said. "I think I always have regretted it."

Clare clamped a hand over her mouth, for a sob was threatening to break free.

"And I had always hoped that you would return to me, my angel," said Erik sincerely.

Clare fled. It was time for her to leave- to leave, and never return.

Out of the corner of his eye, Erik caught a small piece of black fabric slipping past the doorway...

"But," Erik continued, "You made your choice. You chose your Vicomte, and a life up there. That was your decision."

Christine made a face of protest. "But I've changed... things have changed... Erik- I have nowhere to go now."

"Yes you do," he said firmly. "You can go back to Raoul. Forgive him, Christine. I myself have no love for him, but I know that you do. You risked yourself to save him from me, two years ago. That is the life you have chosen."

Christine looked desperate. "I don't see how I can forgive him, though," she said wistfully. "He was so evil last night. I never thought he would go to such... extremes. It just made me feel like I wasn't enough for him. Even though he won me over, he still wasn't happy. I can't live with him now, Erik- I can't..." She took his hand. "What can I say to make you let me stay?" she asked, voice laced with such despair that it took all of his resistance to keep from saying yes.

"Christine," he said steadily. "I cared for you two years ago. I loved you like no man has ever loved you before..."

"We can bring back that love, Erik. Both of us. Together."

He shook his head. "That love is dead. You can't resurrect the dead, Christine," he said regretfully. "A painful lesson, but it must be learned. You made your choice... and now... I'm making mine."

Finally accepting defeat, Christine nodded with a heavy heart. "I'm sorry it couldn't have been different, Erik," she said, leaning over to kiss him one last time. "Now," she said. "I believe you have some reconciling of your own to do, Monsieur Phantom."

She held something out to him- a spare mask that she had found in his room. He took it from her and put it on. He would never feel comfortable with his own face.

He got out of bed slowly. His arm seared with pain where he had taken the bullet, but he ignored it. Before leaving the room, he retrieved something from a small, locked box on a desk by the door and put it in his pocket…

* * *

A/N: hmm…. Wat's coming next, I wonder? Can Erik stop Clare in time? Review, and the next chapter will be posted! 


	19. One Love, One Lifetime

A/N: well…. I hate to do this, but I think this might be the last chapter… I have everything just where I need it, so this could be it… SO READ AND REVIEW! I LOVE YOU GUYS!

* * *

Chapter 19- One Love, One Lifetime 

Clare was standing by the boat, ready to leave, but something was holding her back. She didn't want to go- she didn't want to leave this place- this shrine to music... this place where Erik lived.

She heard a noise from behind her.

Turning slowly, she found herself face-to-face with Erik himself.

"Don't go," he said.

"You don't want me to?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Never."

A moment of silence passed between them.

Then Erik, not meeting Clare's eyes, said, "I'm sorry for hurting you, Clare. I- I never meant to... something came over me, and I wasn't thinking... you must think me a monster now."

"I don't," she said. "You'll never be a monster to me, Erik... but... but you did frighten me."

She saw tears suddenly flood to his eyes. "Can you ever forgive me?" he whispered.

She nodded honestly. "I meant what I said that day," she said.

"Then will you stay... will you stay here, with me?"

Clare hardly dared to wonder if he was asking what she thought he was. "But I thought Christine-"

"Christine has made her choice, Clare."

"But you love her, Erik. She was your first love... your only love."

Erik bowed his head. "Christine was my first obsession. My first infatuation. I will always care for her, but..."

"But?"

"But..." Erik exhaled. "My only love is standing before me right now," he whispered.

Clare's breath caught in her throat. How she had longed to hear those words!

Erik knelt before her, and took her hands, singing to her softly.

"_Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime_

_Lead me, save me from my solitude_

_Say you'll want me with you here, beside you_

_Anywhere you go, let me go too..._

_Love me..._

_That's all I ask of you..."_

He held something out to her, and her heart stopped.

In the palm of Erik's hand was a small gold band. He looked at her with an expression of total selflessness- he was giving himself to her for all eternity. His heart was pounding, praying she'd accept.

"Erik-" she breathed.

He braced himself for her to reject him. "Clare," he said, a sudden urgency in his voice. "I promise to take care of you... now and always... and I promise never to hurt you, ever again..."

"Erik," she said again.

"You can do what you want," he went on, words turning to useless babble. "I won't care- as long as you never leave me..."

"Erik," she said, and he fell silent. She took the ring from his hand, and slipped it onto her finger. "I will," she said softly.

"You really will?" he asked in disbelief. "You mean it?"

She nodded.

He stood up, still holding her hands. "Clare," he said, "I know that this life won't be easy-"

She shook her head. "Don't talk about that. I don't care."

"And you know we can't be married properly... in a church, I mean"

"I don't mind, Erik..." She took his mask off. "But promise me you won't hide yourself anymore. At least not when we're alone."

"I promise," he said.

He kissed her, to seal their engagement.

Neither of them noticed Christine watching them, crying silent tears of both happiness and sadness. She cried for the love that she had lost, and for what might have been, but knew that her phantom had found his true love at last.

* * *

A/N: yay- three cheers for a happy, fuzzy ending! corny, i know, but i couldn't resist! I hope you all like it- so drop me a nice little review... and you will be visited by the Opera Ghost... muah! NOTE: THERE WILL BE AN EPILOGUE- BUT IT WILL TAKE A FEW DAYS FOR ME TO POST! 


	20. Epilogue

A/N: well, this is it, folks. The final encore. The last chapter is here at last, so read, review, and enjoy... it's been a pleasure being your author.

* * *

Epilogue

A week after the events at the opera house, the Époque- a local gossip magazine- ran the following article:

_Paris- April 23_

_An apparent suicide was committed last evening at the Paris Opera house. A young man, identified as Monsieur Martin de Croix, allegedly jumped to his death from the rooftop of the Opera, say sources. The Vicomte deChagny- a close friend and colleague of deCroix- refused to comment on the situation, saying only that he "wished more than anything that things had been different." _

_The suicide of Monsieur deCroix was only the first of strange happenings at the Opera Populaire. Sources have also reported that a young diva by the name of Mademoiselle Clare Darnier has disappeared following the last performance of Aida. Mademoiselle Darnier was last seen in Act 1 of the performance, however in the second act, her role was filled by another singer. Anyone with any information as to Mlle. Darnier's whereabouts should contact the Parisian police...

* * *

_

The mystery of the disappearance of Clare Darnier was never solved. No one ever saw her again, after the final performance of Aida. No one, that is, except for Christine Daae, who took the secret with her to her grave. She left the labyrinth when all between her and the phantom was said and done, and never returned again to the Paris Opera House. After months of separation, she and Raoul finally reconciled with one another, though their marriage was never the same afterward. Even years after the incident, Christine was still plagued by feelings of regret over the choices she had made...

As for the phantom, you ask? No one can say for sure what became of him and his bride, but stories began circulating amongst the dancers, and sometimes they say, if you visit the theatre in the middle of the night, you can hear them still, singing together the music of the night...

THE END

Wow- I can't believe I'm finally done! i know the epilogue seemed a bit vague, but i kind of like it cause you can imagine your own ending. lots of you have asked about a sequel, but as of this point, i don't know. if you have any ideas, feel free to e-mail or tell me about it in a review! love you all!

* * *

And now, I feel I must recognize all of my readers! So here we go:

**POTCgirl**- hey: my first reviewer for this story! Thanks so so so much for all your comments- you always made me laugh!

**Fox of the Nova**- SO DO YOU LOVE IT? OR DO YOU HATE IT?  thanks so much for your reviews!

**Litagirl:** I kno ur not gonna see this for a few weeks cause your grounded, but thanks a million for your reviews, especially the 1 about muffins!

Luv ya!

**Raveene **(aka ..:rav:..)- hey… loved getting your reviews… glad you loved it!

**Rio**- wow, I loved reading all your reviews (hopefully you've stopped wailing by now, lol) thanks for reviewing every chapter!

**Tasha**- I consider you one of my best critics on this story, cause you gave me the strong points AND the weak points! Thanks so much for your input- it helped make this story better!

**Sparrow's Pearl**- heh! I loved reading your reviews- they made me laugh so hard! Tell ye what- ye and your shipmates can come on over, and we'll have a duel over the phantom! What say ye to that, aye? ;) wink!

**An Anti-sheep Cheese Muffin**- first, may I congratulate you on having the absolute BEST penname I have ever heard! (where DID you come up with that, just wondering?) I don't know about a sequel…. Its questionable at this point. But thanks for your reviews!

**Cap'n of the Deep**- here be yer epilogue, mate! Hope you enjoyed!

**Kristiana Marie**- props to you for chucking popcorn at raoul! I laughed when I read your review, then I went and did the same thing! Tee hee

To everyone else, cause this is getting really long: **Countess Alana, Phantom Ange, Maridelpiero, ElvenStar5, andersm, faeleigh, angelofmusic45, surf with music, camlann, undomiel2007, smgirl, Galasriniel, Lioness-Rampant, fairygalcaz, Alanna-of-Olau, Jaina Kenobi, secret, aleema-darkrose1**, and **Pheobe**- thank you all SO SO SO SO SO SO much! Hugs and brownies for all!

With that, this story is FINI!

m.C.m.

2/12/05


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